Sharp Little Pinpricks
by thatgirlwiththe
Summary: Her voice is soothing, my only source of relief since the day we left Kirkwall. She stole me away at my beckon, gathering a small crew and taking me far from that place on her newly acquired ship. This story follows Lady Hawke on her journey after DA2 and will merge into DA: Inquisition.
1. The Past that Haunts

_A/N: This chapter does contain adult themes, but I think I've managed to handle them well enough to remain in the 'T' rating for now. It also contains endgame spoilers._

_I got inspired to write this after listening to the Dragon Age 2 soundtrack. 'Love Scene' in particular was very influential. Also because I got a very odd DA2 ending…and it was interesting enough for me to want to explore this via fan fiction._

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Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 1: The Past that Haunts

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_**The circle has failed us Orsino. Even you should be able to see that. The time has come to act. There can be no half measures. There can be no turning back. **_

_The earth is quivering, a deep, guttural cry of anguish surfacing from its now cracking skin. There was no difference when compared to the aching tremble in my chest and the sound wanting so badly to escape my throat. The feeling and sounds were the same. Hallowed ground is breaking where this unholy energy howls and splits through, and I…am breaking with it._

_**There can be no peace.**_

_A pillar bursts through and reaches for the heavens as if trying to send a message to the Maker himself, a message written in red. The color stains the sky and hangs over head like a deep-sea of blood. Blood…blood…blood…it's always blood. In as many battles as I've been in, I know now that this color will never wash off my pale skin. Not this time._

_I watch as the Chantry is being taken apart systematically, each piece seemingly part of a puzzle as they expand and separate before bursting outwards in a shower of stone and dust and bone and flesh and tears. I look down to my hand. There's a soft sting in my palm. As I unravel my shaking fingers I notice that I've been grasping the hilt of my sword and grinding its leather bindings until my skin chafed, broke, and then bled. I cup my fingers and watch as a few drops of blood gather and pool in the palm of my hand._

_Oh, Anders…what have you done? What have I helped you do?__This was no solution. This…this is fear, formed and molded into a final act of desperation by the terrors that plagued you. _

_**The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending that the Circle is a solution. And if I pay for that with my life…then I pay. Whatever you do, just do it.**_

_What else could I have done? My hand was forced. Though this choice solved nothing in the end, the lives of the many will always outweigh the lives of the one, and the many demanded justice for such an obscene act. With the mages and templars already at each other's throat, and with Sebastian threatening to bring a vast army onto Kirkwall…how many more need suffer? Aveline was right; belief was no excuse, sincerity did not justify…this._

_I stood behind him, a shaky hand holding his shoulder while my fingers curled and clasped tightly onto the fabric of his robes, staining the material red. I pleaded with him through my touch, begging him to open his mouth and tell me not to do what I was about to. I wanted to hear something—anything that would possibly sway my decision and convince me that what he did had to be done, that it was the __**right**__ thing to have done._

_But it wasn't. And he didn't. _

_He exhaled and placed a warm hand over mine, ever silent as he looked down and simply nodded his head. _

_Pointed steel was put to flesh and I felt as it pressed into him, ripping through the layers of his skin, the thickness of his muscle, piercing the once gentleness of his soul until all that was left was a man crumbling and swaying forward. I moved to catch him, stepping around and holding him in my arms. He smiled up at me, the digits of his fingers reaching and pressing against my forehead, sliding down over my nose, lips, and chin, feeling my features one last time before the light in his eyes went dim._ _I lay him flat on the ground, constricting my throat so that my sob may not escape. Anders, my Anders, was dead, a bleeding heap laying in the remnants of the holy place that he had single handedly destroyed, one cheek pressed into the rubble leaving one hazel eye visible, open and unfocused, seemingly fixed upon me…_

_His smile never left him._

My eyes snapped open and I heard myself cry for him. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but this time everything just seemed so real, like I was there again, digging my dagger into the soft of his back. It's been a year and I still wake up drenched in sweat because I swear that I can still hear him calling my name. _Marian. _I know I still sometimes say his out loud when I'm alone. His name is all I have left. _Anders. Anders. Anders. _It's like a sharp little pin pricks me every time that I say it, drawing blood and making me wince because it reminds me that I'm still here without him.

I'm losing myself. I want my mother. I want my brother. I want my sister. I want you…to take it all back. I want all of this to be undone. I want you to heal this gaping wound in my chest with your beautiful hands, the hands that belonged to a healer…not a murderer.

"I…I want…I w-wan—" I loathe being this broken. I used to be so witty and vibrant, always ready to make someone roll their eyes or smile. I hate these boiling hot tears that stream down my now gaunt cheeks uncontrollably. These feelings that I have are...

…it's...it's as if blame, guilt, loneliness, shame, humiliation and heartbreak all merged into one essence and took residence at the core my very being. Some wounds are just too deep to mend.

I saw a flash of lightning from outside the captain's cabin's small, circular window. A few seconds later, thunder boomed and my body jerked. I tried to take a deep breathe, inhaling the slight humidity and the taste of salt in the air. It was unsuccessful in stopping my tears.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay, I'm here…"

Her voice is soothing, my only source of relief since the day we left Kirkwall. She stole me away at my beckon, gathering a small crew and taking me far from that place on her newly acquired ship. Everyone else has had to leave my side due to one circumstance or another… but Isabela? She stayed with me, never wandering too far and always making sure to come back quickly. I used to tease her about having a heart of gold; that we needed to rip it out and sell it quickly before others ever found out her secret. She would laugh, blame me for her change in character, and then link our arms together as we strolled around Lowtown, chatting light heartedly with Varric, amusing Anders, piquing Merrill's curiosity, and irking the blight out of my best mate Aveline.

The pads of her thumbs caress my cheeks and I can feel her wipe my tears away...again. The sudden contact of her warm skin makes me remember that we are both without our clothes under these sheets, and she presses into me firmly as if willing the heat of her body to seep into the coldness of mine. I should have moved away from her. But the feel of her against me was maddening. In these past six months of sharing a bed (no sex, just sleep) I've spent so much time gazing down at her and trying to bury any spark of feelings away, that I didn't realize what she was doing to make that so hard for me. Every time I would cry, she would hold me. And when she held me she would always move her hand to the small of my back and bring me closer to her, forcing our eyes to meet.

Now, if I didn't like her this way, I should have pulled away. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything except try to calm the hiccups that had taken the place of my sobbing.

She wasn't grinning. She wasn't sneering. She was difficult to read. Her expression was hard and vacant at the same time...just like I knew mine was. I hated being pitied and she knew this, but when Isabela decided to go against the norm and rub her hand on my back consolingly, I felt tears anew threaten to weld up in my eyes. Normally I'd never cry in front of her. No one had ever seen me cry...not in years. I didn't show anyone my tears when Carver died, when Bethany was taken by the Gray Wardens, or when Mother had be stitched together by a psychotic blood mage serial killer. But since leaving…it just kind of all poured out at once. The weight that Anders's actions had placed on my shoulders had finally taken a toll on me and tipped my balance.

She knew this, and most importantly…she understood. There were never any snarky remarks on my seemingly constant tears, nor any judgment. But there _was_ something different about the way she was looking at me now…

I had no idea what Isabela's motives were as she tried to kiss me for the first time in six years. I pulled away as I did with my feelings for her earlier. I removed her hands from behind me, not too fast or too slow. She gently scratched her fingernails up, and around, and up again as I finished relinquishing her hold on me and sat up. Her expression softened and I swallowed the prickles in my throat. I could never let her have me. Not in this tear stained state, still consumed by the heartbreak and anger of my former love.

I refused to blink in an effort to dry my eyes, but it seemed that the harder I tried, the more I remembered the pangs I felt every time I uttered the name _Anders_ in my mind and it would all flare up again: guilt and shame and a thousand pinpricks. There was guilt for letting Isabela console me when I should be doing it by myself as I've always done, and shame for wanting to rid my heart of this burden. I didn't want to remember the Chantry, or the innocent people in it. I didn't want to think about all the friends and family I've had to say goodbye to. I didn't want to think about Anders.

It's too much. _It's too much._

"I-Isabela…"

She wrapped her arms around my waist as I struggled to keep from crying. I couldn't do anything other than that as she pulled me back down to lay next to her. My emotions were running wild, hence her hesitation with me as she straddled my hips...

She kissed my neck softly as a way to wait to see what I would do. I still couldn't do anything; I just wanted to cry and maybe depart this existence. Her lips did all but burn me as she kissed down to my shoulders. There was an old spark, a faint kindling of what life still lingered in me and my insides warmed up at her caress. Why did the feel of her skin against mine make my resolve dissolve? Now she was holding my face gently as she moved to brush her lips against my eyelids...

"It's okay," she whispered again. "Everything will be okay."

Her hands whispered down my hips as she explored the area for a brief moment before coming back up. My body wanted to arch into her touch. My lips ached to be kissed as she rubbed her hands down my shoulders and arms, but she didn't dare move in to kiss them again. They were not hers to claim. Instead, she smiled at me as she gently spread my legs open and moved her head down. My hormones had blocked off all sense of reality, and all I could feel was every little sensation she was giving me. Every flick of her tongue, every bit of pressure from her lips...it broke the lies that she tried so hard to convince me of. And the only way to mend them was to just let her do this to me.

No matter where I go, life will never be the same. It will never be okay.

I didn't know what was happening to me...my mind was swaying for her just like this ship at sea, the sound of the storm's rain drops pelting away at our wooden lodgings and drowning out my voice of defiance. She was eating away at my refusal. Her mouth was giving me a form of release as I moaned softly. My world was spinning and I didn't know what to believe. In a way it felt like she was taking advantage of me, but any strength to wrestle the truth out of her feelings or reasons evaporated like my shallow breaths in the night air. In my heart I knew she meant well, Isabela was consoling me the only way she knew how.

She had told Merrill once that she didn't make love, that what she did was only skin deep. Maybe this was only that for her, but it didn't _feel_ like it. Either way, I tried to remember some form of resistance. But I couldn't pull away, resistance wasn't coming. Nothing was…except for...

And as my body arched and head flew back, it was _his_ image that flooded my mind and I accepted it like the masochist that I must be. I would torture myself with _his_ name, allowing the sharp little pinpricks to stab at my already tingling skin.

I deserved no less.

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_A/N: That's right! Even though I romanced Anders and killed him, Isabela stayed with me at the end. I have no idea how I accomplished this, but it was interesting none the less to ponder over how this would work out. I think I'd like to explore this a little more._

_And I felt absolutely terrible at the end of the game. =( I can only imagine what it must feel like watching something like that unfold and knowing you had a hand in helping. As usual, your reviews and comments are loved and welcomed. Thanks for taking the time to read!  
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	2. Sparks of Old

_A/N: Had to change the rating to M because I wasn't sure that some of the language was really in the 'T' category. Better safe than sorry. _

_And thank you to everyone who put me or this story on their alert list, as well as to those who have reviewed. You guys are awesome for taking the time to read. :-)  
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Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 2: Sparks of Old

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_I wish I could dream like normal people when I sleep. But I don't._

_I never dream. I remember._

_A pinprick here, a jab there, there are drops of blood, and tingles everywhere. There is blackness unending that spirals me out of control through these retained and now recalled past experiences._

_**Memory**__: I'm suddenly seventeen and in Lothering. Bethany and I are walking arm in arm towards the river to bathe. We are accompanied by Waffle, my ever faithful Mabari. Father always told us that there was safety in numbers. Bath time was our favorite time, our time to chat and giggle endlessly over the simple farm boys who fawned over us. And even though this little village is home to nothing more than farmers and a merchant community…it's __still__ home. All of my family is here and I couldn't be happier._

_**Memory:**__ The hills and fields of Lothering are beautiful this time of year and we couldn't wait to start our exploration. Carver, Bethany, and I have finished our chores, so what's the harm in creating our own little adventure? Nothing ever happens around here anyways. It's always so boring!_

_**Memory**__: Aveline has me, Anders, Varric, Merrill, and Isabela running up and down this bloody coastline. We were apparently daft enough to come up with the 'mastermind' plan of clearing the entire area of mercenaries while she strolls along merrily making the most pathetic excuse of small talk that I've ever heard. Poor Guardsman Donnic, the bloke is absolutely clueless as to what she's going on about. I don't blame him! Maker knows she's bad at this..._

_Ten pairs of eyes peek over a boulder eagerly, hoping that this time Aveline says something right. She's…talking about blades. Great. And what's worse is that Donnic has this glazed look about him. I think he's drifted off. Actually…yep, he's drifted off. Brilliant._

_I look over to the four others who seem just as annoyed as I do, "That's it. This is much too painful to watch. All of this flailing is getting her no where! Let's go give her a friendly push in the right direction, shall we? If Donnic can't get the hint then we'll just have to show him a bigger signal fire."_

_Aveline is starting to make her way out of the Wounded Coast with Donnic close behind her, so we all jog our way clumsily down the closest path, grateful that none of us sprained our ankles on the loose rock as we flanked around to cut them off. _

"_Well, guardsman, good patrol. I think we're done here, and I…Hawke! What a surprise! What are you doing here?" That's right Aveline, play the innocent part in all of this._

_I made sure that my tone was soft, but warning her of my intention none-the-less. "Aveline…"_

"_Hawke. Don't…"_

"_I think you'll come around once it's all out in the open!"_

_Donnic was fidgeting uncomfortably from side to side, "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?"_

_Isabela was obviously displeased at his air of obliviousness. "Oh, just take the hint and—"_

"—_Guardsman Donnic," Aveline said quickly, knowing that whatever it was Isabela had to say wouldn't be good to hear. "Can I speak with you privately for a moment?"_

_Donnic only nodded his head in confusion as he was tugged off a small distance away. Aveline made sure that the both of them gave us their backs as she tried to explain the situation. "They're here to…because I couldn't…well you see, I don't know how to…"_

_The pirate rolled her eyes, "That's it. Hawke, get over here."_

_I didn't have much time to react as Isabela roughly yanked me by the collar of my armor and dragged me over to her. She grabbed me by the waist and twisted me around quickly before pushing the palm of her hand in between my shoulder blades and bending me over harshly, taking her place right behind me. Anders looked like his eyes were about to pop out and Varric simply cheered. But it was Merrill's loud squeak that caught Donnic's attention at the perfect time. He and Aveline turned around to witness the spectacle and both pairs of eyebrows flew up._

"_C-Captain?"_

"_Do you get the hint now?" Isabela called out with a wicked grin, slapping my rump playfully. I was too busy trying to contain my laughter as I was kept in this position. I knew that if I let even the slightest of cackles out, that Aveline would fume and send her rampage flying. Isabela's sense of humor and mine were not very different, so I didn't mind what she was doing to me in the slightest. I knew Anders didn't mind either because he understood our personalities. Besides, it was him that I went home to every night and no one else._

_Aveline turned to look at Donnic and laughed awkwardly. _

"_I…should get back to the barracks."_

_Isabela threw her hands up and released me. This man was an idiot. _

_The guardswoman marched up to us, absolutely seething from head to toe. "What was that? This little stunt of yours is borderline harassment! I…I thought we were friends. I have to fix this. He'll file a complaint…ask for a transfer. You," she continued, pointing at me sternly, "You. You're coming to the barracks to explain yourself. Double time, Hawke."_

_I couldn't help the smile that cracked across my lips as I saluted her and marched off with my loudly chit-chatting crew not far behind. The last thing I could hear was Aveline pulling the pirate aside behind the rest of us, speaking clearly through clenched teeth. "So help me, loose lips. I will break you."_

_**Memory: **__And then it happened like it always did. My memories always find their way back to…him._

"_I want to tell you now. I love you. You've stood by me when I gave you every reason to turn away. Just remember, whatever happens. I wanted you to know that."_

"_I love you too, Anders, but—"_

"_You are the most important thing in my life, but some things matter more than my life, more than either of us. I'm sorry."_

_Pinprick._

"_You're wrong. Love matters. __**This**__, what we have, matters too."_

"…_I told you that I would break your heart. Just know it breaks mine to do it. I was hoping that we'd find a better way, but Justice and Vengeance are too intertwined. I can't tell one from the other. You are the one shining light in my life…never blame yourself for what will happen."_

"Alright, that's enough of this. It's time to get up!" There was suddenly bright light where there used to be darkness. Someone threw the curtains open.

Hawke blinked groggily and groaned as she was yanked into a sitting position, "Uh-wha?" She felt as a pair of slender fingers groomed her. They ran through her messy blond hair before sliding down her still tingling, pinpricked arms, taking grasp of her hands, and pulling her to stand up. Marian wobbled, shaking her head and blinking her eyes to gather her wits about her. "Isabela?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, I need you to put your linens on and meet me out on deck. I can't have my sexually deprived crewmen ogling your fleshy bits, now can I? Unless of course you've become somewhat of a exhibitionist these last few months, in which case then I'd have to say by all means! It would surely increase moral. I know mine would shoot _straight up_ and poke the Maker right in the eye."

Hawke rubbed at her lids for a moment. She could feel her head tilt and a brow rise shortly after. "You believe in the Maker?"

"It's an iffy subject. But I imagine that if there _was_ a Maker, and if he _did_ have two eyes, that it would be entertaining to watch them get poked, no?"

Marian's lip curled into the slightest of smirks as she walked over to a small end table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a small pouch that smelled of mint. She reached in with a finger and wiggled it around before pulling it out and opening the pouch wider to look in. "We're running low on mint leaf."

Isabela rolled her honey-colored orbs as she turned to leave the cabin, "Oh, whatever shall we do without our mint leaves…"

"_Some _of us prefer to not have our _morning_ breath follow us the entire _day_," Hawke grumbled as she took out one of Isabela's whiskey bottles and drank form it, swishing the liquid around in her mouth before swallowing. Her face scrunched up as it had every time she put the burning liquid on her lips. She had absolutely no clue why Isabela liked this particular brand, it was positively horrid.

"I heard that!"

"Then take the hint and use the mint," Marian laughed playfully after a deep inhale. She took one of the remaining leaves from the pouch and popped it into her mouth, grinding it down with her teeth, and then taking a tiny swig of water to wash it all down before dressing in her armor's under-linens.

Even after so many months of not really having the occasion to wear her Champion's armor, it still felt rather strange to be without it. But for now her boots, black leather trousers (stitched up the sides, of course), sword belt, and a black linen tunic to match Isabela's white one would do. Of course Hawke's v-neck wasn't cut _quite_ as low, but it was appealing none-the-less to the always peeking pirate.

When the warrior finally appeared on deck she found it as no surprise to greet the day to an already mischievously smirking crew, all of which just so happened to be decent men and able bodied sailors who needed the coin. So there was no real worry of harassment. Isabela had Castillon's ship, a giant, two square masted brig. It was a softwood vessel and weighed about two-hundred and twenty tons, but it was most definitely the fastest that there was in Thedas. Needless to say, Isabela was absolutely ecstatic the moment Hawke let her have it, instantly renaming it _The Siren's Call_—no matter how ugly it was. Thank the Maker that the pirate had enough sense and good taste to change Castillon's terrible obsession with the color of mustard.

Marian's piercing green eyes scanned the always wet floorboards of the ship's deck in search of the familiar shape. "Isabela?"

"I'm up here!"

Eyes turned skyward and squinted. Hawke was forced to hood her gaze with the back of her hand from the already high noon sun. _"Oh Maker, she's in the crow's nest. Not the bloody crows nest. I hate the crow's nest!"_

"I think I'll just admire wherever we are from down here," she called out loudly so that the captain could hear.

"Oh, don't be such a tit! I want to show you something!"

"I am _not_ being a ti—" Pause. "I'm not being one!"

"Don't tell me the mighty Champion of Kirkwall is still scared of this little harmless structure, far up on this ever stiff mast."

"I was never scared of the damned thing! I just get…" Hawke rubbed her eyes irritably and exhaled, "Andraste's ass, fine! Give me a second."

"Get up here! And be careful!"

"Or what, are you going to make me walk the plank if I don't rush up?"

Isabela laughed as she bent over the nest without a care in the world and smiled widely down at Hawke. "Don't tempt me."

Marian folded her arms over her chest and looked up again, her stomach knotting and a faint blush painting her cheeks at the sight. Isabela just looked so…_happy_. And for one odd reason or another…this _pleased_ Marian. "What does that even mean anyways, to 'walk the plank'?"

"Think of it as going deep sea diving for pearls, but without the pearls and you dying at the end."

"Dying?"

"Breathing your last breath? Croaking? Popping your clogs? Fed to the dogs? Taking a minute with the Maker?"

"I know what dying means, you goose. I'm asking why death would occur in the first place."

"Because some wanker bound your feet and hands together before sending you off on your happy way!"

"…_oh_."

That just didn't sound pleasant at all.

The blond flexed her grip a few times around the rope ladder before reaching up and beginning her ascent. Her pace was a little too quick, but she had a point to prove to the sultry pirate wench. She. Was. Not. Scared. "…right then, I'm coming."

"That's what she—"

"Don't even start. It's _much_ too early in the day for flirtatious jests, especially around the poor deprived crew who has to ingest it all."

"I hardly think they mind."

"It's improper."

"What was that!" Isabel looked down from the nest and onto the carefully climbing woman beneath her in sudden horror.

"What was what?" Hawke shot her eyes in all directions, clinging madly to the ropes as if expecting to get knocked off by some unseen element of danger.

"On your head!"

"What is it!" Marian frantically clung to the wobbly ladder with one arm while swatting at the top of her head with her free hand.

"Oh, nevermind." Isabela instantly replied dryly, "I thought you had sprouted a new tuft of ginger hair. No worries, it's probably just the Aveline in you coming out. Prude."

Hawke narrowed her eyes into a furious glare, "Are you _trying_ to get me killed? Perhaps I should just make it easier and relinquish my hold on this ladder? It would certainly save you the effort and terrible jokes."

Isabela chuckled, "Oh don't be so dramatic. I said 'be careful', didn't I? Here," she said, extending her hand down to help the blond with the remaining distance. "Let me help you up."

Marian took the hand gratefully as she climbed in to stand beside the brunette. "See, I told you that I wasn't scared of coming up here. It's just that the last time you sent me up here alone, I realized that I tend to get…" Hawke swallowed the gigantic lump in her throat as she started to sway like a buoy at sea, an almost green tint replacing her normally rosy cheeks. Oh no, it was happening way quicker than she thought it would...

Isabela held her hands out in protection and could only afford to take a half-step backwards given their limited spacing. "I don't like that look you're giving me. It looks like you're going to—"

"—oh, Maker." Marian hunched over the crows nest's lip and released the accumulation of her seasickness. Hawke learned the first time she was up here that since the nest is built on a point far away from the ship's center of mass, any small movement of the ship feels amplified and could lead to severe nausea, even in the most accustomed sailors. She had no idea why she felt the need to prove otherwise to Isabela. And now was most certainly not the time to ask herself this.

"_What in Andraste's beard…"_

"_Didn't she do that last time she was up there?"_

"_It got…aw, damn it all. Some flew in my bloody hair!"_

Isabela bit her lip and looked over from their perch down onto the commotion below. "I guess it's a little late to say 'heads up'. Oy, Bodok! Get the Swabbie out here to clean whatever landed on deck, will you?"

The dwarven Quarter Master looked up at his captain before shaking his head and making his way into the ship's interior in search of the Swab. That's right, Isabela had a dwarf on crew and he was good at what he did. He protected the men against each other by maintaining order, settling quarrels, and distributing food and other essentials. Not only was he a surface dwarf, but he was a surface dwarf that loved the sea. He was peculiar and it was uncharacteristic of his race, but that's exactly what Isabela had liked about him to begin with. Besides, neither of the women were in any position to be picky about their crew when they needed to depart from Kirkwall. Luckily, everything turned out alright. Bodok was a damn fine drinking mate too which was, of course, always a plus to Isabela.

The pirate scrunched her nose as she patted the warrior on her back softly, "We're definitely going to need more mint leafs. You were right!"

After making sure there was nothing on her lips or chin, Marian groaned unhappily and clung to the mast at the center of the crow's nest, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. "You're very funny, Isabela. Hilarious. Just… give me a moment to get my bearings. I feel as if I'm about to tip over and fall out of this stupid thing."

"Isn't sea sickness grand?"

"You are just the _worst_ kind of help. I hope you know that. _Why_ am I up here again?"

"Because I _do_ have something to show you, you know. However, between you upchucking and squeezing your eyes shut every thirty seconds, it's proven to be quite the challenge."

Hawke sighed gently. Isabela was right. "I'm sorry it's been as such. While I do rather like traveling with you, I suppose I'm not the best sailor in Thedas. I'm surprised you haven't just docked yet and tossed me right over."

"Don't be ridiculous, if I did toss you over who would I get to ogle perversely at?"

"How about the entirety of your male crew? I'm sure if given even half the chance they would…what was it you told Aveline? Bend you over backwards, ass over tits and hammer you like a bent nail?"

The pirate captain sniggered contently as she recalled Aveline's face, "While the idea does make me quiver deliciously, these men wouldn't know what to do with me even if I did give them that chance. I think I'll stick with the goods."

"Be careful, Isabela. That was a mildly sweet thing to state," the blond said, momentarily opening her eyes to peak at the brunette. "That golden heart of yours is starting to shine a little. What would the others say?"

A rough wave passed beneath the ship and Marian found herself shutting up and squeezing her eyes closed once more, attempting to keep the nausea at bay. Isabela shook her head with that contagious smirk of hers as she walked around and stood behind Hawke, wrapping her arms around both the blond and the mast. The pirate made sure to push the front of her body into the warrior's back and press firmly. "Does this feel better, you big-breasted baby?"

Isabela's voice sent vibrations through her chest and Hawke could have sworn she felt them in between her own shoulder blades. "Actually…"

The brunette waited for the worst, wondering if Hawke would push her away and call her a pirate hag like so many men had done before. The warrior was only ever half accepting of Isabela at night and in the secrecy of their shared cabin. She had no idea where they stood. They never even took the moment to talk about what had happened only a few nights ago. Isabela didn't know what it was that pushed her to do such an act, but she _did_ _know_ that seeing Marian in such a state of distress made her uncomfortable for reasons she could not yet voice.

"… it does—feel better that is," Marian said, feeling a certain reassurance with the extra pressure of the pirate pushing her into the mast. It felt oddly safe, and her nausea was replaced by a different kind of feeling: butterflies with dwarven explosives.

"Hawke, you need to stop feeling and start _feeling_. That's why you're getting sick. You're not enjoying yourself!"

"That made absolutely no sense."

Isabela was never shy in her approaches or touch, so it didn't shock Hawke when she felt the sudden warm breath on her ear. "Yes, it does. You're so consumed by the rocking waves that you're not taking the time to focus on anything else. Can't you feel how this sun is shining down on your skin? How the warm breeze tickles your nose and cheeks? How the soft mist of the ocean kisses coolly across your neck, chest, and arms? I bet you didn't even notice those dolphins starboard side. It's… marvelous up here, Hawke."

The warrior took a chance to glance over her shoulder, her lips coming in close proximity to a pair that was just as soft. Isabela had her eyes closed, truly soaking in everything that a life on board this brig had to offer. She was meant for the sea and, for a moment, it almost seemed like the sea was meant for her too. She looked so blissful... and once again Hawke found herself being delighted by it. "Is this what you wanted me to see—er…feel?"

A small sigh left Isabela's parted lips and she opened her honey eyes again. "Sadly, it's not. It was just a lovely diversion. We'll be docking by early tomorrow morning. Do you see the tiny, faint shape of that island over there?"

Marian rested her cheek against the wooden mast and squinted her eyes intently towards the place of Isabela's indication, "Only just, but I do."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Isabela," Hawke chuckled, "We've been wandering around the Amaranthine Ocean for so long that I couldn't point the way back to Kirkwall even if I wanted to. You're the captain of this bloody ship, so why don't _you_ tell _me_?"

"Are you ever any fun," she sighed tiredly. "_That_ is Brandel's Reach."

Hawke slightly pushed back against the pirate in attempt to look at her severely, "Wait, you brought me back to the Free Marches? Are we heading back to Kirkwall? That's just West of here is it not? Isabela, it's only been eleven months. Surely neither the Templars nor their new Knight Commander would ever—"

"Brandel's Reach is _technically_ claimed by Ferelden, but in reality it's a no-man's land that's mostly inhabited by raiders, snitches, and independent folk that would probably be very surprised if someone came and told them that they had a queen. We have to restock on supplies and Brandel's Reach is the only place nearby that has natural harbors in its rocky coves. It's not really suitable for settlement, but it has a few shops and an inn for those who do business in the trade. Don't worry! Everything will go smoothly!"

"I _really_ hate it when you say that. Something always goes wrong!"

"It does not!"

"Oh, it does. You've said it a grand total of three times before, and each time something bad has happened."

"First time?"

"Our water and ale supply got tipped and spilled in a storm."

"Second time?"

"You and the boys got drunk, and one of them used certain stocks of our food to…relieve their frustrations in the dead of night."

"Oh, that's not bad. That's expected! He didn't use anything that I liked eating, anyways."

"The third time you said it we were putting a new sail up, and Riggs got caught up in his own rigging system! It's a marvel the man is still in tact and alive. I can only wonder what's going to happen now that you've said it again." Marian wiggled her away out from under Isabela's grasp and quickly made her way down the ladder and off the damned crow's nest. The ship's captain was close behind her.

"You can't blame all of that on me, you know. It's merely coincidence that something has happened every time I say it."

"Then perhaps you should stop saying it so that these 'coincidences' can stop happening!"

"I think you need some time off this ship!"

"Well _**I**_ think…you're right." Marian exhaled loudly then turned to look at Isabela with a smile. "I am strung up a bit tightly, aren't I?"

"A bit?"

"Okay, I'm strung up very tightly."

A suggestive smile spread across the brunette's lips, "I think you need to relieve a little stress."

"And let me guess what you have in mind," Hawke replied sarcastically.

"Am I that predictable?"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Isabela."

"Oh?" The pirate perked up, "Is that an open challenge? An invitation, perhaps?"

"Take it as you will," Marian said, walking over and leaning on the ship's rail. The dolphins were still there, swimming and splashing happily in the glimmering water. She could feel herself smiling, not knowing if it's from the view or the persistence of her female companion. On good days, flirting was fun again. She could feel the sparks of her old personality and would forget about her woes, feeling _alive_ and in the present for the briefest of moments, as opposed to always being stuck in the past for the longest of time.

"What would you have me do?" Isabela asked, leaning on the railing with an elbow but turned completely in Hawke's direction. "Would it wet your knickers if I talked pirate to you?"

Talk pirate? Hawke raised an eyebrow and smiled brightly out of pure curiosity, turning to look at the other woman's glowing face. "I have to admit that I'm interested now. So even if it _is_ in front of the crew, go ahead. Woo me with your sultry pirate talk. Toss me a pick up line. It can't be any worse than what the guys at The Hanged Man used to tell you."

Isabela cleared her throat and presented herself properly, smirking that irresistible smirk and adding a smooth cock of the hip to her already oh-so-svelte body. When she finally spoke her tone was low and sexual, "…How'd you like to scrape the barnacles off me rudder?"

"I stand corrected. It can be worse."

Both women stared at each other, trying their hardest to not laugh. But their twitching lips eventually gave way. They laughed loudly together, the crewmen around their area looking at them like they had gone completely off their rockers. Hawke wrapped her arms around Isabela's neck and hugged her fiercely. It had caught the captain off guard and her laughter died down slowly, but eventually she hugged the woman back just as hard, swaying her gently from side to side.

"Thank you for staying with me. I don't know if I've ever said it before but…I am now."

Isabela froze and swallowed something in her throat before gathering enough of her wits to respond. "I…you're welcome."

* * *

_A/N: As usual, your reviews and comments are loved! Now here's a little pirate info! (Argh?)_

_Rigger__ - The sailors assigned aloft to work the running rigging and to furl/release the sails._

_Swabbie/Swab__ - Although not technically a rank, a person who mopped the decks using the swab was called a swabbie._

_Quarter Master__ – The 2__nd__ in command of the vessel. Maintains order and keeps the record and account books for the ship._


	3. Siren of the Sea

_Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of its characters and universe belong to BioWare. I am simply taking joy from making the puppets dance to a pretty tune._

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 3: Siren of the Sea

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**.**

**.**

Morning air on the ocean is always glorious. Hawke, for the first time in a long time, had awoken with the rising of the sun. She was at the prow of the ship, lying on the thick plank with her eyes closed and feeling everything Isabela had told her of—from the gentle tickle of warm wind, to the cool kiss of the ocean's misted spray. No memories haunted her last night. For once, it was just blackness and restful sleep. Perhaps the soft snoring of her pirate friend and her constant fidgeting on the bed helped; a steady reminder that she was not stuck beneath a crumbling chantry any longer. But no matter the reason, she was grateful for the rest. Her eyes weren't as sunken in and the small, purple bags beneath them were gone.

Hawke expanded her lungs considerably, truly inhaling the scent of the ocean world around her. Because that's what it felt like living on a ship, like you were in a different world, surrounded by vast and measureless blue, far from the noise and politics of the city. A light sheen of mist coated her lips and Hawke slipped her tongue out, tasting a bit of salt. She looked up into the sky with a child's wonderment. There were several funny looking clouds that drew and kept her attention. When she was small, Bethany and Carver would join her in lying on the grass. The three of them would giggle together, pointing up in enthusiasm when they thought they saw some sort of amusing shape in the puffy, white masses.

"_That one looks like Carver's big head," Bethany would laugh, playfully nudging her twin brother in the ribs._

"_Hey! You take that back!"_

"_No, I don't think I will."_

"_Well then that cloud looks like your fat a—"_

"_Carver!"_

A smile spread across her lips. Oh, how she missed them dearly. The day everyone had to separate themselves from Hawke was one that carved a deep hole into her heart. Worried sick, Bethany fled from the Gray Wardens to help her dear sister fight against the crazed knight commander. After Meredith fell, everyone gathered together and escaped into the hills. But the templars had sent reinforcements into the city to bring order back to Kirkwall, searching heatedly for the warrior and those who had helped her.

Sister Nightingale had warned them. Divine Justinia had taken great interest in the situation in Kirkwall, considering it to be the worst threat in Thedas since the Qunari invasion. The whole world was watching as Kirkwall fell to magic and now no one was safe. Marian had already risked and lost so much, she would not risk them finding Bethany as well because of her. So she forced her sister to leave her side, commanding that Waffle stay with her. It broke her heart to do so. It broke her heart to have to see _everyone_ leave.

You see, the team she had gathered along the way had become so closely knit in the past years that it felt as if they had literally become a part of the elder Hawke: Anders was her love, Bethany was her spirit, Aveline was her strength, Isabela was her courage, Merrill kept her sincere, Varric kept her dedicated to the 'story' they were allegedly making, and Waffle…well, Waffle was Waffle. Who doesn't love their Mabari?

Now with only one of the original seven, everything in the world seemed a little less vibrant than it used to be. But at least Hawke was with her courage, with Isabela. That alone was enough to keep her going for now.

From a small distance away a pair of honey colored eyes watched the blond in secrecy, the shadow-play of cargo aiding the professional rogue in her illusion of nonexistence. Something…_different_ was at work in her chest today. Watching Hawke like _this_ made something inside feel as if it were being pulled in the warrior's direction, the tips of Isabela's fingers tickling and longing to reach out. Oh, she was all too familiar with this…urge.

Touching and being touched is a basic human need, some would suggest it is as significant a need as food and shelter. Some have described the need for touch as 'skin hunger,' suggesting the desire for touch is an actual craving, much like hunger for nutrients and water. Isabela wouldn't argue with that. But recently, the feel of her caress has changed. Where once it was harsh and sexual, it was now becoming gentle and sensual. Not for everyone, oh no, not at all. It was just…for _her. For Hawke._ Isabela would become tentative in her stroke, always minding the way in which Hawke's body would respond under it. And we're not even talking about the _sexual_ kind of touch. Isabela was actually giving a damn about _every_ touch: a hug, a caress to the cheek, an encouraging squeeze of the hand, arm, or shoulder.

There was reason for her madness and her uncharacteristic tenderness. Touch is one of the most powerful and sensitive of all senses. Kind and appropriate touching sends a message to our very spirit and heart that we are valued, that we are safe, that we matter...

That we exist.

This, above all else, is what Isabela wanted to do for Hawke. She wanted to _breathe new life _into the woman. The reasons behind such actions were foreign to the pirate. She wasn't even able to answer her _own_ questions in a coherent, well organized sentence. But…she was never really one to ponder over her actions too long. Rather, Isabela was a woman who went with the flow, much like a ship at sea. The truth behind her dealings would present themselves when appropriate. So, for now…

"RAMMING SPEED! Prepare to be boarded!"

Several rapid footsteps were heard and Hawke quickly lifted her head only to notice Isabela jumping—no, _pouncing_ on her. "Maker, are you crazy!" She wrapped her legs around the pirate who was now lying on top, "We're on a _plank_! If you tip us over we'll fall off the bloody ship! And since we're at the head of the ship, when we fall—we'll get run over by the damned ship afterwards!"

"Don't worry! Everything will be—"

"DON'T SAY IT."

Isabela laughed freely and without a care, "Fine! This is what you get for laying down above the prow! I couldn't resist the tackle; you were so… open and prone… just the way I like it."

The warrior was still clinging tightly to the rogue for fear of her moving and rolling the both over, "We were just inches away from rolling to our impending doom! Is sex _all_ you ever think about?"

"Only ninety percent of the time."

"Should I be scared to ask what the other ten percent is?"

"Whiskey and sailing in roughly a four to six split."

"…of course it is."

Isabela folded her arms across Marian's chest and rested her chin there, eyes staring up at the other woman intently. It was clear that no matter the position they were in, the pirate had absolutely no intention of moving any time soon. "So what was it you were thinking of just now? Even from over there I could tell that you had that look about you."

When Isabela had calmed and shown no hints of flipping them over, Hawke too allowed herself to relax. Fingers absently mindedly twirled a strand of the rogue's shoulder length hair as her green eyes looked up towards the sky once more. "I was thinking about Bethany, Merrill, and Varric…everyone, really. I miss them."

"Hm. I'm almost ashamed to say that I do too. I actually miss my big girl. Man hands and everything."

Hawke could feel her eyes roll, "She's not _big_, Isabela. Aveline is…muscular. I always thought it was kind of attractive."

If curiosity was a sound, Isabela would be the Val Royeaux grand symphony. "Oh, did you now? You like muscles on a woman?"

"Erm, I've never thought about what I like in—_on_ a woman. I mean, I think Aveline is attractive enough, but I can't say that alone speaks for my preferences in general—not that I've been looking."

"Perhaps I should start lifting more heavy crates?"

The smile on that damn woman's face was bloody near lick-able and Hawke couldn't be any twitchier under it. "Don't be ridiculous. Have you _seen_ your thighs? There's enough muscle on those things to crack any man's head between them."

Isabela's eyebrow shot right up in a perfect arch, that delectable smirk never leaving her mouth. "You've been looking at my thighs, have you?"

"What? N-No!" Hawke blushed furiously, "It's just that when you do those flying kick-twirl-things…your…your bloody tunic just goes all over the place!" Now she was beginning to sound almost accusing, "It's from simple o-observation based on the height you're able to jump, to deduce that you are…that you _have…_ m-muscular le—Andraste's sanctified ass, I'm starting to ramble like Merrill!"

"Aww, you're making my insides get all squishy! Should I start calling you 'kitten' as well?" A feather-tipped finger ran up along the hollow of Hawke's throat and slid across the underside of her chin, scratching there for a brief moment.

Marian's face scrunched up and she swatted irritably at Isabela's hand, "Oh shove off! We need to stop messing around and get this ship to docking at Brandel's Reach."

"There you go, ruining our fun with good sense." Isabela sighed, untangling herself from Hawke and standing back onto her feet. She adjusted her corset as Hawke sat up and did the same.

"You know, I've always wondered. Since you said you thought she was attractive, did you ever see yourself getting together with Aveline in your earlier years?"

Marian was bent over and putting her boots on when she answered with a small shrug, "In our _much _earlier years, sure. I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about the idea at least once. She was always by my side; always brave, loyal, helpful, dependable, and kept my reckless ass safe with that shield of hers—"

"I get it, I get it. The big girl is 'amazing'." Now Isabela wasn't sure she should have even brought the subject up, "With the way you're playing her up, are you positive you're not in love with her _now_?"

"Maker, no! It'd be like being in love with Bethany—get that look off your face. Even if I didn't think of Aveline that way, I don't think it would have worked out had she been interested at all."

"Why do you say that?"

"Something just tells me it wouldn't be healthy. You know those relationships that become harmful because both people find that they love each other just way too much? I _think_ it'd be like that."

"And here _**I**_ was thinking that 'love' was supposed to be important in long-lasting relationships."

"Since when do you think about long-lasting relationships?"

"I _was_ married, Hawke. In that kind of situation you learn really fast about what _doesn't_ work and what's _needed_ to make the relationship work. Sex can only do so much and go so far. And that's all my relationship with my ex-husband was: sex and arguments. I figured out what the missing link was really fast. Let's just say I'll never be putting myself in that kind of arrangement again."

"You can fight and argue and still love someone."

"I know that. Of course you can. If he and I argued like the way you and Anders used to then we'd still be together. But we didn't. Remind me to thank your 'Maker' for that later."

_Pinprick._

The gentle hum of a friend's sorrow is the worst kind of sound. Isabela exhaled and covered her eyes with the palm of her hand, "Hawke. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." Marian stood up then and dusted the back of her tunic off. She could feel the tingling of her skin, almost as if it had gone numb; it was remarkable what something as simple as his name could do to her. This was just pathetic. "Isabela, it really is okay," she lied with studied indifference.

"Look, I'm not so completely heartless to not know or admit when I've done or said something stupid."

"Isabela," Hawke said once last time, a tinge of firmness pressing her words, "drop it. It's fine." The blond cleared her throat and felt it best to change the subject, "Now, Brandel's Reach is in sight. You should get to work. I'm going to go dress in my armor because an island full of mercenaries isn't exactly my idea of relaxing time off."

The pirate could feel her jaw tighten and shoulders tense, but she nodded her head in agreement regardless. "Right."

* -o- * -o- *

Enough time had passed to cool off both women. Seagulls were screaming overhead and Isabela was smiling ear to ear as she yelled out over them, commanding her crew with ease and womanly grace. "Oy, Bodok! It's time to walk her in! Ease her around downwind and get into a beam to line her up! They have an empty cove right ahead and it's mine for the taking!"

The dwarf's voice was deep and throaty as he barked back towards the ship's rigger and sail master. Hawke too was smiling as she watched Isabela move effortlessly amongst the heaps of rope, ladder, wood, and metal. Her crew was moving quickly, well directed under her supervision and guidance. "That's it, boys! Nice and easy!"

A few twists of the ship's steering wheel from a crewman and suddenly they were gliding at a soft angle. "There we go! Riggs, relieve the ship of its forward mast sails!"

"Aye, captain!"

Marian glanced forward clad in her shining armor, watching as the cove increased in size before her. They were approaching it rather quickly and she could feel her heart quicken. If the ship did not slow it's advances they would most definitely crash inside of that natural dock. "Isabela, shouldn't we be slowing down?"

"Don't worry! Everything will be fine!"

Hawke smacked her hand across her face and groaned. The fingers on her other hand held onto the ships railing tightly. She just _had _to say it, didn't it?

"NOW! Sail Master, turn her around fully!"

Marian watched what was happening in awe. Not only were they approaching the cove quickly, but now Isabela was swiveling the ship around and lining it up to dock the thing in…_**reverse**_. She was really doing it. Isabela was gently gliding the ship into the cove backwards without any worry whatsoever. Then it all started to click and Hawke knew what the pirate was doing. It was rather amazing how the very wind that carried them here in swiftness was now aiding them in slowing down as it blew harshly into the remaining squared sail. Brilliant!

"Unless you intend to pay for my new sails, Sail Master, I suggest you drop them lest the cove rip them from us."

"Aye, Captain! Sorry, Captain!"

They were about to glide into the cove at little above a snails pace now. Hawke turned around and sat onto the ship's railing with a gigantic smile meant only for Isabela. Watching this woman command such a vessel was strangely gratifying. A woman doing what was normally a man's job—and doing it well—was... _sexy_.

"I know that look," the brunette said after leaping down from some high place. She swaggered up towards the blond with her signature smirk that made most men weak in the knees, "I take it you're pleased with my ability?"

"Not that I mean to stroke your ego, but yes. It was impressive."

"Mm," Isabela cooed. "What _do_ you mean to stroke then? Does that denote that I get a small peek of some of your more…special talents later? As a reward?"

One of Hawke's eyebrows found itself arching, "Special talents? Are you referring to my ability to juggle small rodents while humming Orlesian ballads?"

"I…what? You can do—" A large shadow slowly creeped over the brig's deck as it slid into the safety of its covered dock. "Balls." Isabela took notice and walked off to continue commanding the crewmen with slightly ruffled feathers. She wanted a reward, damn it. Hawke would watch her, smiling at times and giggling at others. But when the captain started to sing a song as she worked, Hawke's jaw slacked.

"You have got to be kidding me…"

"What?"

"You're singing about _that_?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"I _still_ can't believe you told me that when we went to pull that Dreamer out of the fade. Out of every possible excuse for betraying me you said, 'I like big boats, I cannot lie'. And now you've made a song about it? Honestly, Isabela."

"It's catchy to sing while you work! One day it'll be someone's anthem, I know it." She cleared her throat in order to continue singing, "I like big boats and I cannot lie, no chantry sister would ever deny, that when a big ship docks in a teeny, tight place with its huge hull in my face I get—wait, you're not still sore about the fade are you? It _has_ been a while."

"Not sore about what happened, sore that you've managed to make a _song _about it!"

"Aww, does little Hawke want a big kiss to make it better?"

"Going to antagonize me now, are you?"

"I promise that I won't sing it again if it pleases you." Pause. "So, about that kiss…"

"No."

"A hug?"

"No."_._

"A quick tumble before we head into the village?"

"Isabela!"

The pirate threw her hands up, "There's just no pleasing you today! And that being said from _me _should really tell you something, Hawke."

Bodok's yell echoed throughout the ship, "All anchors down!"

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest tightly and smiled, "Just because I don't have the urge to bed you, Isabela, doesn't mean there's no—" A sudden, sharp jerk of the ship caught the warrior off guard and she found her arms swinging out as her body was pushed back by the sheer force of the ship coming to a halt. Maybe sitting on the railing wasn't such a good idea…

"HAWKE!"

She hit the water with a large splash, the weight of her champion's armor pulling her down, but the current underneath the cove strong enough to suck her out back towards the ocean all before she even had the chance to cry for help.

And sooner than she realized…she was drifting as if led by an invisible hand. Where this current was taking her she would never know. The only thing she knew is that it was not guiding her up towards air. There was great urgency in her action. After removing her gloves and letting the current take them, her fingers lashed out at the leather straps that held her plate armor together with little success. Blurred vision and a burning chest were all painful distractions. A small ribbon of blood slithered from her fingertip and Hawke noticed that a nail had popped off in the process of trying to claw herself free from her constraints.

Nothing was working! She had abandoned the idea of undressing and flailed, arms and legs pumping desperately in attempt to go up. Air. She needed air, and despite her efforts to scratch the surface she continued to sink…sink…sink, twisting and turning as the ocean guided her farther until…_**Bam**__. _She made contact with a reef not to far from the surface, her head smashing painfully into its coral and blurring her vision even further. Her eyes threatened to roll back and cast her world into darkness almost immediately after impact.

_Head hurts. Blood...blood…blood, it's always blood. No air. Need air! Can't. Feel. Can't. See. Can't. Move. Tired. So tired._

…_Anders?_

She sees him then as clearly as day. He smiles at her and extends his hand, offering it in the gentle way that a man asks a woman to dance. She looks up at the rippling sun through the water and smiles back at his image. She is going to die and she doesn't seem to mind anymore because _he's_ here, her own personal siren of the sea.

Reasons for living suddenly slipped from her mind and all she could see was him underneath the diamonds and sunlight, so beautiful in the ocean's glow. Anders was chasing her into the silent, sapphire world far below, drifting down further with her into the endless night. She could not resist the call. She wanted to follow and let her desire set her free. And as she lay there on the reef, Hawke couldn't think of an ending more appropriate for the both of them. They would lie there together, alone and peaceful, far from the city and its Templars, in a place where no one would ever think to look for them.

_It's really happening...isn't it..._

Hawke feels her heart blow open and stars pour from her chest because he's come back to her at last, just as he had in one of her many, many fantasies.

But this was reality (wasn't it?), and it was time to go home to his arms.

_A/N: Thank you very, very much to everyone who has subscribed to this story! Your reviews have not only been wonderful, but have been amazingly encouraging. So thank you for that as well. _


	4. Conversations with Dead People

_A/N: This chapter might be confusing because I meant it as such! Hopefully it's easy to catch on and you can form your own questions and conclusions about it._

Twilight and evening bell,  
And after that the dark!  
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,  
I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.

_~ (excerpt from) Crossing the Bar, by Lord Alfred Tennyson_

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 4: Conversations with Dead People

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"Wake up. Move. You have to move so you can be seen!"

"_Kirkwall can't change alone, love. It will take years of open warfare before mages can be safe."_

_I snuggled into him on the bed with a playful smirk, going along with his little revolutionary speech because Maker knew I was just too damned tired to lecture tonight, "Then we shall fight until you are allowed to remain safe and warm in my bed."_

"Stop remembering, it's going to get you killed! Wake up! Open your eyes!"

_Anders smiled happily and tightened his hold around me, taking strength from my tired encouragement. "Not just me. We will fight for a world where our children can be born mages and free. Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you and there will be no Templars to tear them apart."_

"It's not time yet. Move! Help cannot come to you unless you've the will to save yourself. Move so that you can be found! You're running out of time! MARIAN!"

A voice thundered in her ears and Hawke's eyes stung badly as they snapped open.

She was still underneath the water.

Her arms suddenly lashed out as if making to swim but her armor kept her weighted down. Slender fingers tried once more to unbuckle the leather straps beneath her plate only to find that it was becoming increasingly hard to focus. She had to go, she had to breathe! It was not time yet! Marian pressed her lips into a tight line, the last bit of air inside of her floating up in the form of small bubbles.

"_Maker, please help me. I can't rid myself of this armor fast enough—"_

And just as the prayer had been asked, was it answered. Green eyes peered up towards the sun from beneath the surface. Anders was there, begging her to push harder and make herself known to those who were searching. She reached up for him, her digits stretching as far as they would go and her movements making her shiny plate armor glint underneath the clear water like a tiny beacon. She needed to keep fighting, yet all that could be heard was the roaring of ocean in her ears as her mind swam and her lungs burned. She could not bear to focus much longer, the darkness was pleading with her to join it...

There was a glimmer of white light breaking through the surface above her, or so she thought. She could not see well with the increasing shadows that distorted her sight. The world was flickering with vague glimpses of recognizable shapes and places, showing her visions of her own life with each flash of light. But something—someone was moving towards her in between each moment, this much she could tell.

The individual had crashed through the image of Anders and Hawke felt a vague feeling of hope from within. The woman was swimming towards Marian at an ungodly speed, the light from the noon sun behind her giving this savior a halo around her wild, shoulder length hair.

Hawke, who had been simply reaching for Anders, was now screaming for this figure in white with her whole body, utilizing the last of her energy. Tanned fingers intertwined with pale ones and a shock surged through both of them. Isabela pulled herself into the warrior and crushed their lips together in an air tight bond, forcing what little breath she had from her very lungs into the drowning woman. There wasn't much of a response, but it was not something Isabela could worry of just yet. First, she had to rid Hawke of armor.

The rogue pulled a knife from her belt, harshly cutting through the leather straps that kept Marian's chest and shoulder armor bound to her. She worked quickly yet meticulously as she cut away at other individual pieces, her own need for air starting to echo silently in the back of her mind. It might have only been a short moment but it certainly felt like it was taking an eternity to resurface.

Once everything (including Hawke's plate boots) was removed, Isabela swam around and hooked her arm underneath the blonds. Something was wrong; Marian was not aiding her in the climb. The brunette's toes pointed and her powerful legs kicked frantically as she led them to the surface. She gasped gratefully as oxygen fill her lungs but wanted to scream when the woman she was holding did not do the same. There was no hesitation when she started swimming Hawke over towards the shore and its oddly sallow-looking sand.

Upon feeling the beginnings of land, Isabela started into a hurried crawl. She went further, dragging Hawke behind her until they were a decent and safe ways in. She flipped the warrior onto her side and pounded against her back, watching as small dribbles of salt water poured from her unmoving lips and face.

"Breathe," Isabela panted, "Come on, Hawke."

The warrior was motionless despite her desperate pleas. She laid the woman on the flat of her back and straightened her out, tilting Marian's head so that her chin pointed up. Isabela wrapped a hand around the nape of the blonde's neck and gently lifted while placing her other hand on Hawke's forehead and pushing slightly so that her tongue moved away from the back of her throat and permitted an open air passage.

Isabela could feel her heart pounding madly and her blood go hot as bent over to place her ear along Marian's mouth. She longed to feel warm breath against her skin but nothing was coming. Her chest was neither rising nor falling. "She's not breathing," the pirate exhaled to herself, words coming out so deeply distressed that it would have been almost to the point of incoherency if others had heard.

Keeping one hand under her chin, Isabela then used the other to pinch Hawke's nose. She inhaled and pressed her mouth widely against the others to form a seal, blowing in four quick but deep breathes. Marian's chest would rise slowly then return to its unresponsive state.

"Hurlock's ass-mole, Hawke, we didn't get this bloody far together only to have something so stupid kill you. You're a Champion! Act like one! Come on," the pirate shouted, trying again. "Come on!"

It's funny how things work out sometimes, because someone did feel a little pinprick jab at their skin just then. Only…this time it wasn't Hawke who felt it.

Her eyelashes darkened and clumped with a wetness that had nothing to do with the ocean's water. Isabela sniffed and swallowed, shaking her head and trying again, refusing to give up.

Nothing changed.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and plopped down to sit next to the limp body. Marian was simply laying there, her once warm face now pallid and sickly looking. Hawke looked so cold and the sight of it broke the pirate's heart, so she grabbed the warrior by the shoulders of her tunic and pulled her in, cradling her head in her lap. Isabela's chest trembled as a guttural moan flew from her lips before she could stifle it, honey colored orbs turning skyward.

For the first time in her life... she spoke to any deity who would listen. Maker or not, she just needed someone to pay attention and answer.

*-o-*-o-*

Dull. Empty. That's the only way I can explain where I am right now. There is no weight or substance to my body. I feel like I simply…exist.

How did I get here?

When did I get here?

"_You're a real piece of work, big sister. Tell me something… how were you able to kill Meredith but can't seem to take a proper swim? Everyone knows that heavy plate armor doesn't exactly do wonders as a flotation device."_

"_Carver?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Brother, where are you!"_

"_Turn around."_

"_What?"_

"_Just turn around, Marian! Maker, do you always have to question me?"_

I didn't understand exactly how I was supposed to do this considering it felt like I didn't have a body, but I tried anyways. And as soon as I did, this bright world filled will color and took the shape of things that I knew and remembered; familiar things, objects of meaning. I took a moment to glance around, realizing that this was my dear little family home in Lothering. It was suddenly very warm and I found myself sitting near a fireplace wearing a dress that had long since burned. Carver was standing there with a grin on his face, arms crossed over chest and leaning into the frame of an archway that led into our small, open kitchen.

My eyes flooded with tears as I ran up to him and wrapped him in my embrace, one arm tight around his neck while my other hand grasped the back of his head and latched into his hair._ "I've missed you so much. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you, that I didn't knock you away in time… that I simply couldn't take your place." _I moved my head back and held his face in between my hands to look at him properly_, "Forgive me please, little brother…"_

He was gentle when he slid my digits away from his face, holding my hands firmly in his_. "There's nothing to forgive. Ogre or not, I was foolish to charge ahead of the rest of you. I was fueled only by my anger. Losing father was hard on it own, but when we had to leave everything that we'd ever known… I couldn't stand it." _

Carver then exhaled petulantly, _"No worries, ever since I've been here with our dear old Father he's not stopped wagging his finger at me because of it. It's an understatement to say that I've learned that my actions were reckless. It was no ones fault."_

I searched his eyes_, "Father…is he here too?"_

"_He is. Mother is as well_," he replied easily_, "but they won't be able to come see you yet. It's not time for that. I'm here because being the stubborn bastard that I am, refused to let you wander back from the white vast without telling you something that you need to hear first. So, will you hear it, big sister? I promise that what I have to say will be quite profound and prompt much more inner dialogue."_

"_Of course, brother. What is it?"_

"_You're stupid."_

"…_I think I must have heard you wrong just now. I was expecting something philosophical and insightful. Would you mind repeating that?"_

"_Of course, let me just take a moment to clear my throat…"_

I nodded my head and waited, watching as he presented himself like an important public speaker._ "Ahem. You're stupid," _he said again, slowly this time as if I had suffered permanent brain damage._ "You're daft. Nutty. Dippy. Looped. Your chimney is clogged. Your wheel is turning but the mouse running on it is dead, you—"_

"_Okay, I get it! No wonder you and Isabela get along, she does the exact same thing to me! Maker's breath_," I exhaled, eyeballing Carver and wondering if it would be wrong to punch him in the nose after missing him for so long.

"_If you understood it then I wouldn't be in the position of having to tell you, would I? Marian, I've been watching what you're doing to yourself. Mother and Father have been watching too. We are not very pleased."_

I shook my head, not quite understanding what he was getting at._ "What are you talking about? I've been doing the best that I can. Speak plainly. You know I don't like it when you talk from your ass."_

"_Alright then let's talk about two things. And since you brought her up, we'll make her subject number one. So," _he cleared his throat yet again_, "number one: I'm surprised Isabela has stayed with you for as long as she has."_

"_She's close to me, Carver. We've been—"_

"_Ah-Ah_," he waggled his finger at me_, "__**You**__ haven't done anything while __**she's**__ been trying just…so hard, Marian. But it's like you've just been stuck on this never ending loop for a year! The anger, the guilt, the shame, the sadness…it's not healthy anymore, sister. In case you haven't walked passed a mirror in three hundred and sixty five days, you should know that you look like shit."_

"_Did I ever mention how pleasant you could be_," I sighed tiredly_. "Carver, if you're so wise you should know that it hasn't been—"_

"_Easy, I know. Blah, blah blah. But answer me this: have you ever, in this whole year, considered how your brooding behavior might be affecting the pirate wench? Maker knows it's been hard on you, Marian. Isabela knows that too, and that's why she's never given you any crap about it. But you have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not notice that it's starting to take its toll on her. She's done nothing but care, comfort, and help you through your grief. Yet, never once have you bothered to ask how she was holding up because of it. Selfish, selfish, selfish."_

My eyes widened and I could feel my chest go tight. There was a sudden ringing in my ears and I could have sworn for the briefest of moments that I heard Isabela. She was crying (?) and I longed to reach out and tell her that it was alright. I didn't know what the matter was but I knew that I wanted to help her. Was she really suffering silently on my behalf? Could I simply not see her underneath my own self pity?

"…_what is that I hear? Is that Isabela? I can hear her, Carver. Where is she? Is she here? And what's this little p-pain in my chest and throat?"_

"_Let's not worry about any that just yet. I still have my second thing to say."_

Even though I missed my little brother with all of my heart, I wanted him to just have out with it so I could go help my friend. She was hurting and I needed to be there with her._ "Be quick and honest with it, Carver! If Isabela is in trouble I need to be there."_

He rolled his eyes and dragged me along back to the fireplace where we both could sit._ "Fine. You want my honesty to come swiftly? Then it shall. I think what you've been doing to yourself is pointless. People need to grieve, I understand that. But there comes a point when __**enough is enough**__, sister. The past is the past; our mistakes make us who we are. Yes, what happened in Kirkwall was terrible and sad, and yes, a lot of people died because of it. You could sit here all day and ask yourself if anything could have been done differently to change the outcome. But do you know what? Should have, could have, and would have are meaningless words that carry no weight at all. _

"_None of it matters anymore. Sure, beat yourself up and wonder if something might have been changed had the Grand Cleric agreed with you and chose to take action rather than playing neutral. But she didn't, and that time has long since passed. It happened, Marian. You can't change it now. It is what it is and you need to learn to live with it just like the rest of the blokes who strolled along beside you. _

"_You are not the __**only**__ one who played a part in this outcome. They were __**all**__ pieces of the puzzle, they were __**all**__ there, watching as the Chantry and Kirkwall fell to magic. Every citizen, every templar, every mage, every chantry sister for the past hundreds of years all had a hand in it. It all pushed and led up to that point. It just so happened to boil over when you__** all**__ were there._

_Doesn't our family just have the best luck?"_

I shook my head, trying to soak in everything he was throwing at me_, "Carver, it—this—all of it hurts. It's not so simple for me. It's not a hurt that I can simply turn on and off like a candle. I have to work through it the only way that I know how."_

"_You're doing that now, sister. That's why you brought us here isn't it? It's why you thought of us?"_

"…_what?"_

He stared at me for a moment, as if contemplating whether to answer or not.

"_Nevermind that. Was it not your pirate queen that said 'If it doesn't bring you gold or giggles, then there's no point in dwelling on it.' She's right, you know. And for the love of the Maker, if you can't stop dwelling on it then __**do**__ something about it! It's better than flopping around like an angry fish out of water."_

"_I_—" There it was again, that bloody ringing in my ears and the pain in my chest. I can hear her! It has to be Isabela, I know it. I would know that voice anywhere_. "Carver, something is happening to me. I'm hearing something and I think—no, I __**know**__ that it's Isabela."_

"_It seems like she's working faster than I thought she would. We've run out of time here then. I have to go. There's someone else that needs to talk to you in my place. I personally hate the guys bleedin' guts, but like I said, none of that matters anymore." _He stood up then and moved to me, taking me in his thicker arms and hugging me as if it would be the last time for a long, long time. _"I love you, sister. I'm sorry that I never said it enough. It's easy to find the words when it's too late."_

I smiled at him with all the love that I possessed, trying my best not to tear up and to understand what was happening_. "I…I love you too, but you c-can't go… I don't know what's going on! What is the ringing in my ears? Why are—"_

"_Answer the door."_

"…_what?"_

"_There's someone at the door."_

I turned to look over my shoulder for the briefest of moments and quirked my brow at our homes entrance before turning back and noticing that Carver was…gone.

"_Carver_?" I called out, praying that he would answer_. "Little brother, are you there?"_

Nothing_._

I clenched my jaw to steel my lower lip. It wanted to so badly to quiver at the sudden loss of someone whom I had already said goodbye to once. My steps were slow and unsure as I made my way to the front entrance. I took the knob in my hand and twisted, opening the door slowly and poking my head to the side to see who it was…

A mage with light colored hair tied up in a messy ponytail, handsome in his robes and combat boots. There was a gentleness about him just as I had always remembered before his…actions. But as my eyes traced over his face, his features grew blurry. I couldn't make out the hues of his orbs or the curve of his nose or lips. My eyebrows furrowed at the fog that seemed to cover his face._ "Anders?"_

"_Hello, love," _he said cheerily, as if he had just had a picnic on some grassy hill with Ser-pounce-a-lot.

Despite the haze around his features, I still couldn't stop myself from launching into his arms and holding on desperately. He laughed and picked me up, twirling me in a few tight circles before placing me down. I wanted badly to kiss him, but that fog-thing on his face kept me from doing it_. "Anders, what's going on? And what's on your face?"_

"_Love, I think there are some things you've been carrying with you that you need to say to me. It's why I'm here."_

I could feel my breathe hitch, visions of digging pointed metal into his back flooding through me._ "I'm sorry that I…I didn't want—"_

"_No, Marian. It has nothing to do with what happened to me after the Chantry crumbled, but has everything to do with what happened afterwards. You need to talk to me and to get it all out because you're running out of time."_

My skin suddenly felt much too cool and my hair started to dampen, almost as if drops of water were trickling off unkempt strands. A sudden throbbing at my temple told me that something must have hit me there—hard. And there was a burning in my chest making it increasingly harder to breathe.

It felt like I was…

Anders could see the change in my state, reaching over to place a hand on top of mine in support._ "You're remembering what happened now, aren't you?"_

Water. There is water everywhere and I can't move. I need air but lack the strength to act. _"I was sitting down…then there was water…a reef?"_ Vivid images of everything that happened flickered through my mind and I found myself stumbling back and gasping for air._ "I… drowned."_

"_Do you remember anything else?"_

After willing my breathing to calm I closed my eyes and thought back to the chaos: endless sapphire, pink coral, blue darkness below but sunlight above, and a man reaching for me as I turned my eyes to the sky from beneath_. "It was you! I know it was you that snapped me from the darkness in the water. I heard your voice! You made me open my eyes and then there was…Isabela?"_

_The ringing in my ears increased and I heard her voice clearly for the first time, _"…please, Hawke."

Anders nodded_, "You saw the image that you created, yes. But I wasn't the one to save you and it was not my voice that you heard. It was my image that made you give up fighting in the first place, remember?"_

I could see it in my mind, the very moment when I first saw Anders in the water and decided to stop fighting for my life.

Suddenly I felt very… ashamed.

"…_what did I do—have I done? I actually considered just accepting death knowing that I still have friends out there who depend on me and a sister who needs me?" _Thoughts of Bethany came to me and I groaned_, "Carver was right. I am selfish. And for what? Because I'm still a depressed mess even a year later? Depressed or not, that was no excuse for me to give up. It was pathetic just taking my misfortune and not having the will to fight back. That's __**not **__like me. Mother, Father…they said they weren't happy with my actions. I can see why..."_

"_It's not just because of that, love. You're sending yourself down into this dark place, and I'm scared that you'll never come back from it if you don't move on. You dream of moments and a man that have long since passed."_

I wanted to scream at him then. It was his fault. It was his stupid little plan that started everything. So why couldn't I yell at him? Why didn't I want to hit him smack in his blurry face?

"_How do you move on from something like this? A broken city? A fallen chantry? __**Your**__ death that came at __**my**__ hands? I'm not the same woman that I was a year ago."_

"_I don't think anyone really expects you to be the same woman after what happened. But look at yourself, Marian. Your cheeks are gaunt, your eyes are sad, and Isabela even said that she hated when you stood next to her at the market because when compared to you she felt 'round in the middle'. You're growing thinner, becoming a shadow of your former self and I hate watching it happen. Heed the advice that was given. Move on." _

"_Move on, move on, move on! That's all everyone is telling me!" _I said angrily, rounding my hands into tight fists._ "You people make it seem so simple! Well I have news for you. It's not. I—you would—it's just that I don't know what's going to happen next! But I do know that to accept what's to come is to know that I'm going to have to say goodbye… and I don't want to leave you behind._

"_It's scaring me that I might have started to do so already. Your presence still lingers on in my memories, but your face…your face is fading, blurring, changing. Even now I can't see you. Why is that, Anders? I can't see those kind eyes or soft lips anymore. I can feel them, but I can't see them. I __**need**__ to see them."_

The man's head seemed to tilt as he looked at me, "_All you have to do is close your eyes and think of them, love. What you need to see will come. _

I returned his look with uncertainty, never enjoying when people spoke in riddles. But never the wiser I closed my eyes and tried to fill in the blanks that my memory couldn't seem to connect. However, where I tried to remember hazel orbs… I saw honey. Where I tried to find soft, peach lips… I felt softer lips tinted of a darker shade. Where there was pale, moon kissed skin there was now tan, sun kissed skin. Loose, shoulder length hair where a tight ponytail should be.

Sit down—I needed to sit down. I found a seat and folded my arms over her eyes, feeling my lips tremble almost as if Anders could see what I had just pieced together. Guilt flooded through my body, my mind reacting as if I had just cheated on the man.

"_T-There's something that I have to tell you…"_

He sat across from me, reaching over again and taking my cold hands into his warm ones_. "You can tell me anything."_

Maker, he was making this harder with all the support_. "A few nights ago I had awoken from a terrible memory completely shaken. I was crying and trembling and just couldn't seem to self-soothe. I called out for her, for Isabela, and she…calmed me, relieved me in the only way she knew how. I'm sorry_," my voice cracked_, "I'm so sorry. I don't know if it makes anything better, but do understand that I never let her kiss me. My lips were not hers to claim, they're yours!"_

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly upon remembering that I **wanted** Isabela to kiss me but never gave in to my own desire. The little fact was enough to make the guilt double in strength and the ringing in my ears to grow ever louder. "_I..._"

"_It's okay, you can continue. It's what you've needed to tell me, love. It's why you've thought of me."_

"_I…I never meant for this to happen but she's crawling into me, Anders. The way you did. I can feel this spark inside of me when we talk, and this electric pulse underneath my skin when we touch."_

His face was starting to clear. I could make out a gentle smile on his lips and it drove me crazy_. "Why aren't you yelling at me? Why don't you accuse me of cheating and call me awful things just as you should?"_

"_Should I," _he mused, the fog around his mouth and jaw evaporating faster_. "I don't think I can call you names when you don't deserve it. It's been a hard and lonely time. You shouldn't have to be alone out of guilt. You've been figuring that out slowly since the moment you arrived here. It's a lovely home, by the way."_

I tried to smile for him but found there was just no will to do so, so he squeezed my hands a bit more tightly_. "You know what you have to say, don't you," _Anders asked gently._ "So say it. You say that it's not simple, but it really it. It's nothing more than seven little words."_

I hung my head, knowing what he was after. I had known it myself for a short while, yet the masochist that I must have inside let it continue on out of pure guilt_. _After everything that has happened because of me I didn't deserve to be happy...or so I thought._ "…I can't keep doing this, can I?"_

"_No, Marian_," he smiled, the fog around his nose and cheeks disappearing_. "You really can't. It's not healthy for anyone. But that's only the beginning of what needs to be said. The proper words are stuck in your throat and you have to learn that it's okay to say them. Saying them would be…a good start."_

"_I can't."_

"_Say them,"_ he insisted.

"_I can't!"_

"_Say them!"_

"_I—"_

"_SAY THEM!"_

"_I can't keep missing you!" _I shouted back, the words flying from my lips before I could restrain them, sudden horror hitting me when I realized that something else was about to spew from my mouth: word vomit.

"_I can't continue to cling to your memory. It hurts me to say it, but it's __**killing me**__ to let it linger on. My world is without color, without life. I've been stuck in it so long that I've forgotten what it's like amongst the living. Please understand that the warmth of your presence will always be with me, and maybe one day we'll meet again at the Maker's side, but… that time is not now."_

It's a conscious feeling now: my hair feels wet again and skin damp. There's an echo in my ears, a woman pleading for me as she presses against my chest. It kind of hurts, but with every stiff thrust of her arms against my heart I feel something inside jumpstart.

"_If I am going to be any use to the people of Thedas then I have to get back onto my feet and keep walking. My father used to say, 'I might be a slow walker, but I never walked back.' That's all I've been doing isn't it? Walking back and retracing my steps. I can't do it anymore."_

I looked up and my breath caught in my throat. There he was without the fog…Anders, my Anders, handsome and smiling with me in agreement, "_So don't, Marian. Walk forward and never turn back again. Learn from the past, live in the preset, look to the future, and when the moment arises do not hesitate to jump. There's a lot that still has to be done_." He got up then, moving around to me and standing me on my feet. I'll never forget that soft look in his eyes, a love unending and approving.

The pad of his thumb brushed against my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me on the forehead instead of my lips. The action confused me. Why not my lips?_ "Goodbye, lovey. Take care, and above all else…never turn back."_

"_Anders? Wait, Anders—" _He was gone with a nod, the lingering feel of his approval and love forever etched into memory. _"Goodbye, Anders..."_

_Thumpthump._

I gasped. M-My chest…it…it hurts.

_Thumpthump._

I collapsed onto the ground and clutched at my heart, writhing under the pressure and pain. Flipping onto my back did absolutely nothing to ease the strain, my jaw slacking and holding open as if trying to exhale but lacking the breath to do so.

_Thumpthump._

Finally I scream and my head flies back and body arches. The ceiling of my little family home in Lothering suddenly explodes and becomes…a powered sky and high afternoon sun? There was a sharp pain near my eyebrow and I could feel a soft cloth tied around my head. It was blue.

_Thumpthump._

The fabric smelled of earth, like the way the grass smells after it rains. It was...Isabela's scent. Her hair always smelled like this.

_Thumpthump._

It was difficult to focus, but eventually my eyelids opened a little more and I saw her hovering above me.

She had one hand pressed against my chest with her other one pressed on top of that hand, fingers interlaced. Her arms were straight and stiff and her expression wide yet determined.

My chest was still hurting as did every other part of my body, but this time when I felt my heart beat within its confines…it beat for a very different reason.

_Thumpthump._

_Maker, when did she get so beautiful?_

_A/N: Thanks for reading._


	5. Somniloquy

_Note: Please excuse all spelling or grammatical errors if you spot any. As you know...I've been busy with work and travel!_

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 5: Somniloquy

**.**

**.**

**.**

"_Captain, don't! The current will take you and—"_

The rest was inaudible as she broke through the water's surface.

Her first strokes felt fantastic—strong and smooth. The air and water had become strangely calm as a storm collected in the distance, and in her relief over finally finding the drowning warrior, Isabela failed to notice the water's temperature.

It was freezing and Hawke had drifted much farther than anyone would have thought. Isabela lowered her head, tried to feel the cadence of her stroke when bringing the warrior to the safety of the small island's shore. The swim back was agony, it felt as if hours had passed and her whole body was freezing from the temperature. She would call out Hawke's name often as she paddled, wanting—_needing_ to connect with the blonde in any way possible. The lack of response was pure torture. Her arms were starting to rotate clumsily and she would swallow a bit of sea water with every stroke. Every time Isabela breathed she would lift her head, and as a result her body would sink just a little bit more.

Her efficiency was beginning to evaporate.

The crew could see it in the way Isabela's whole head was coming out of the water with each breath. They could tell that she was getting cold, slowing down. Her feet felt like numb clubs and she could only swim straight if she breathed on her left side. Survival instinct was starting to rear its bothersome head in and Isabela had a strong impulse to drop the extra weight and make for shore quickly. Yet there was a stronger impulse to stay close to this unmoving, if seemingly dead woman in her arms. Isabela kind of hated this part of herself— the crazy, optimistic side bordering on hubris that caused her to jump in far over her own head. Over the years, this particular side of the rogue had gotten her into more trouble with Hawke than she could count.

And yet here she was again— in freezing water this time, swimming for dear life. But she just kept soldiering on, stroke after stroke after stroke. And soon she could see the beach get closer and closer. Then, through the clear, cold water, Isabela could see the sand below.

"Breathe," Isabela panted after dragging the woman ashore, her own body trembling from trying to adjust to the warmth of the sand. "Come on, Hawke."

Resuscitation was failing.

"Hurlock's ass-mole, Hawke, we didn't get this bloody far together only to have something so stupid kill you. You're a Champion! Act like one!" the pirate shouted, trying again. "Come on!"

Nothing was changing and as a result her eyes turned skyward.

Hawke was running out of time. 'Praying' was not working and her desperation soon transformed into aggravation. "I don't know why I bother," Isabela mumbled, placing Hawke's head gently into the sand and kneeling beside the woman. "You are a useless deity that doesn't listen, so I'll just do it _myself_," she shouted stubbornly and looked up at the sky again with an accusing glare, interlacing her fingers over Marian's heart and stiffening her arms. She timed her pumps and found her rhythm, altering between breathing into Hawke's mouth and pumping her heart.

"I bet if I tied myself to a pyre, lit my tits on fire, and had some idiot poke at me with a sword you'd listen! But noooo, I'm not your bloody lovey-dove so that makes me insignificant, does it? Well I'll show you," Isabela ranted, continuing with her aid. "I promise that after I bring Hawke back—and believe you me that I will—that I will stomp my way through the gates of that city of yours and kick you right in the Andraste poker! So, for your sake, I would heed my word of caution and—"

_Thumpthump._

The woman beneath her palms suddenly arched and gasped, and Isabela's determined expression widened.

The pirate exhaled shakily in shock, quickly hovering and running a sand coated palm down the blonde's cold face. Hawke seemed confused at first. Her eyes went a bit crazy as they tried to figure out what was happening and where she was. But upon finally focusing on the gentle warmth of the hand on her face, Hawke relaxed into the rogue and traced the brunette's features with her eyes.

"_Maker, when did she get so beautiful?"_

"Has anyone ever told you that you're just an absolutely terrible swimmer?" Isabela asked with a voice that was surprisingly thick with..._something._

The warrior's chapped lips moved as if to speak and Isabela became entranced by the heart shaped cushions, longing to crush her own against them in both relief and need.

Words boomed and echoed through Hawke's memory, as loud and as clear as any explosion. _She's crawling into me, Anders. The way you did. I can feel this spark inside of me when we talk, and this electric pulse underneath my skin when we touch._

Marian could feel this as they stared at each other, something in the pit of her stomach taking hold of her senses and beginning to toss and turn as she weakly reached up and ran her fingers through chocolate hair, slowly and ever-so-gently pressing her digits down on the nape of Isabela's neck. Hawke was half lidded, the look in her eyes unreadable as the brig-captain swayed forward at Hawke's motion. "Hawke?" Isabela sighed and tilted her head, her skin tingling in every possible area…

But the butterflies in Marian's stomach were starting to evolve into something more sickening, this new feeling causing her tummy to churn uneasily. And just as their lips were to connect, Hawke's chest and stomach trembled as a surge of warm sea water unexpectedly erupted from her mouth and splashed against Isabela's parted lips and chin, sending the pirate jerking upwards and away.

Hawke heaved and rolled onto her side, coughing loudly and expelling all salt water from her body. Isabela couldn't help but laugh after wiping her mouth, moving once more towards the blondE and patting her back. "That's it, let it all out."

"Sorry," Hawke rasped desperately in between gasps, feeling terrible and embarrassed for bringing the woman so close only to spit water on her afterwards.

"No need," Isabela said with a smirk, "it's not the first time that I've had a bit of you in my mouth."

Marian wrinkled her nose and groaned, burying her reddening face into the sand after a small coughing fit.

"Hawke," the pirate chuckled, a hint of worry in her voice, "we need to get you into the tavern and fix you up proper. Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah," the blonde mumbled softly between painful inhales, a small smile on her lips as she was helped to her feet.

Isabela had only left the warrior standing alone for a few seconds as she bent down to pick up and sheath the daggers that she had stuck in the sand, but the moment was long enough for Hawke's blood to rush, world to violently spin, and her head to throb painfully.

"Come on," the pirate heaved, wrapping one of Hawke's arms around her neck. "Let's get you into a nice warm bed."

*-o-*-o-*

_Hawke's cheeks were already pink from the amount of wine she was drinking. "Honestly," she giggled, "Do we have to play the questions game every time we come together to have a drink at the Hanged Man?"_

"_And why am I always the first to be questioned?" Isabela asked with a wicked smile, the tips of her index and middle fingers walking up the dwarf's muscled thigh towards his more personal parts. "Is there something you're trying to find out, Varric? Because you could just ask me, you know…"_

"_Rivaini," warned Varric playfully from his seat, adding a stern point of the finger for good measure. "It's nothing like that. All of this is just in good fun. Don't worry, my question is easy! The topic will be on…dogs. Here's the scene:_

"_There is a stampede of wild oxen charging straight towards us. Everyone manages to get away except for two unlucky souls. One has a broken leg and dislocated hip, and the other is stuck underneath a fallen tree with unknown injuries…"_

"_I don't like this story," Merrill said softly, eyebrows furrowing in worry._

"_Get to the question!" Hawke rolled her eyes and smiled with a shake of the head, squeezing and holding the elf's slender forearm consolingly._

"_Well," Varric gave Daisy an apologetic look then switched his gaze back to the pirate. "If you had only a choice to save one of the two—let's say that this time the two unfortunate souls were Waffle and I…who would you choose?"_

_There were groans and replies from all around the table. Isabela took a swig from her wooden mug before slamming it down and laughing, "Waffle…and then Bianca. Mmm," Isabela squirmed in her seat as she poked her pink tongue out to wet her lips, honey eyes shamelessly wandering over the crossbow._

_Varric, shocked and delighted, stood up and pretended to order her away, "Go change your small clothes!" Isabela noticed he had very white teeth and smelt strongly of ale, but not unpleasantly so. She probably wasn't much different considering the amount of whiskey already consumed. _

"_What about me," asked Isabela, ready and eager to move the spotlight to anyone other than herself. "Would you save me or—"_

"_No," Aveline interrupted, sitting back down after having her tankard refilled, "anyone would save Waffle before you."_

"_Now, hang on, I'm not finished with Rivaini yet." Varric held up his hand to the protestations. "What about if the choice was between Waffle and Anders, who would you pick then?"_

_Isabela caught Aveline rolling her eyes. This answer was an easy one indeed. "Waffle," announced the rogue again through a chuckle. Anders tossed his napkin in the air and shrugged._

"_Always the same. Nobody cares about poor old Anders," the Gray Warden sighed._

"_Save your bits. If it makes you feel better, I'd save a __**dead**__ nug before I saved Isabela," Aveline said through a grin, lifting her tankard up in cheers when the brig-captain flashed a wide smile in her direction._

"_That's my big girl."_

"_Okay," Varric carried over the noise, slowly flapping his hands up and down to calm the rowdy group of friends. Isabela knew what was coming. "What about…Hawke?"_

"_That's an easy one! She doesn't sit when she's told to, and she's expensive to feed. I'd take Waffle!" said Anders, laughing loudly when the blonde warrior jabbed his ribs with her elbow._

_After a good laugh, everyone around the table quieted down and looked at the brunette expectantly. But Varric raised an eyebrow and leaned in with a wide smile, "Then let's up the stakes. If you had a choice between stealing and owning a massive ship, or saving Hawke from that stampede—who or what would you choose?"_

_Isabela ignored the childish Ooo's and instead looked at Hawke across the table, so uncomfortable and yet bristling with curiosity. "I'd save Hawke," the pirate answered simply, a small smile tugging at her lips when everyone raised their brows at the unexpected answer. A long pause ensued and the air tingled…Isabela didn't care. "…then I'd make her help me get that brig as compensation."_

_Anders clapped his hands with a goofy giggle, "Well said! What about you, Hawke?"_

_The warrior cleared her throat and looked over towards her lover, "What about me?"_

_A smile played at the mage's lips, "If you had to choose—say between me and…" He looked around the table, wondering who he should pick. "Since everyone is picking on Isabela, we'll stay with her. So, if you had to choose between me and Isabela—who would you pick?"_

_Hawke switched back and forth between Isabela's golden eyes and Anders's hazel ones, her heart starting to pound loudly in her ears as she felt all eyes on her. "I don't think either one of you are stupid enough to end up in that kind of situation. Besides, this isn't how the game is played," Marian smiled uncomfortably, trying to get the mage to ease up on the question. "Isn't one of the options always suppose to be—"_

_Anders shook his head, "But if you __**had**__ to pick—"_

"_She'd pick you," Isabela said, having mercy and saving Hawke from needing to make a decision and say it out loud. _

_The warrior snapped her head up to look at Isabela who was only smiling kindly in return._

_Hawke was suddenly very angry with Anders for putting her in that situation. The mage was smug when he had asked, as if the answer should have been an easy one to make. He acted as if because they were together, that it was him that Marian __**had **__to choose. It was only natural to think such a thing due to Marian's dedication and love for him, but it was still childish and hurtful to ask._

_Isabela was important to Marian too. Anders knew that._

"_I wouldn't be so sure about that," Hawke said too coolly, almost harshly as she got up from the table and left her drink. "I'm turning in. Have a good night, everyone."_

"_What was that about," Anders asked, looking over everyone else's face for an answer. "Did I say something wrong?"_

_Aveline shook her head in amazement, "You are like an enigma wrapped inside a conundrum wrapped inside a brooding idiot with an angry spirit stuck inside."_

"_What'd I do!"_

"_Come on, Kitten," Isabela said awkwardly, tugging on Merrill's hand. "It's time that I taught you about body shots…"_

When Hawke finally opened her eyes it took her a small moment to adjust and figure out where she was and what she was hearing...again.

A tiny smile graced her lips.

Isabela was sitting on the right side of the bed with her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Apparently the duelist had decided to remove herself of all clothes with the small exception of a long, loose linen night shirt. She was also engrossed in her self-written 'friend-fiction' _Aveline and Donnic: Going down in Lowtown_, reading out loud to the supposedly unconscious warrior.

It was cute the way she tried to change voices as she read to Hawke, one moment speaking as Aveline then the next as Donnic. And when Isabela got to the more steamy bits Hawke had to bite her tongue and purse her lips to keep from laughing.

The pirate's words would only pause when she grabbed one of her nearby daggers and pressed it to a large, green apple that rested on the window sill. Isabela would slice it then stab at the piece with the tip of her dagger, carefully bringing the fruit to her lips and taking the sharp point of the weapon into her mouth completely, warm air from her nose fogging the metal as Isabela used her tongue to remove the fruit before drawing the dagger out to chew slowly.

To avoid the risk of hurting the brunette, Hawke waited until the dagger was a safe ways from the woman's face to make herself known with a subtle cough.

"You're awake. Finally," Isabela sighed, putting the stack of stitched-together parchment on her lap neatly. "I thought you'd never get up!"

"Finally?" Hawke asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

Hawke's eyes rounded. "_Two _days? Have you been watching over me the entire time?"

"Don't go and get sentimental about it," the pirate grinned, looking down at the woman next to her in amusement. "It was common sense to stay."

"You...really didn't have to..."

"Oh yes, because leaving an attractive, unconscious woman on a bed, in the middle of a sex-starved, mercenary-based tavern is _always_ a good idea."

Marian laughed softly, weakly but playfully pinching Isabela under her thigh and making her jolt. "You've been protecting me and you know it, you big softy."

"Absurd," Isabela scoffed. "I just wanted to be the one who got to molest you!"

"Isabela, you didn't…" Hawke's eyebrows went up, not knowing why she sounded so shocked. Isabela never turned down the chance to cop a feel—or thirty.

"The world will never know. Or at least _you'll _never know. It's not wrong if you don't get caught."

"I'm sure that's something you tell yourself on a daily basis," Marian chuckled, looking up to watch Isabela's expression.

"Here," the brunette smiled, tossing the warrior half of the apple that she had just sliced. "You need to eat something. Start with that, and then if you can stomach it we'll move onto something bigger."

Hawke looked down at the apple and felt the inside of her mouth water. She didn't truly feel how hungry she was until something edible was in her hand. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"_I _need to walk around the island and stretch my legs," Isabela said, crawling slowly off the bed and beginning to dress.

"I'll go with you." Hawke sat up quickly, wincing and holding a palm to her temple when the blood rushed back into her head.

"Not until you eat and get a bit of energy in you. Even the mighty Champion needs to rest," the pirate winked.

Marian groaned as she stretched her form across the bed, "I've _been _resting."

"Is _that_ what they call landing face first in the sand, ass up in the air? Because to my knowledge that's called passing out. And that's exactly what you did on me about half way to the inn from the beach."

"I…"

Hawke squinted at Isabela. The pirate was leaning in and waiting for a smart remark, the smile on her face growing ever wider.

"You're the only person I know that wears boots for pants," Hawke said so quickly that most people would have had to do a double take and ask politely to 'repeat that'. If she couldn't come up with a smart remark, the least she could do is comment on the rogue's attire—which she loved (secretly).

Isabela instantly laughed, "_That's_ the best you can do?"

Hawke folded her arms over her chest and turned her nose up playfully. "For now."

"Well, poke fun at my boots all you want, but having no pants makes my life so much easier."

"I'll bet," Hawke muttered.

"Why do you have to say it like that? _Maybe_ I just don't like having to worry if my pants would rip down the crack of my arse the next time I did a twist-tick, hmm?" Isabela then grabbed her own bum, throwing her head back dramatically and tiredly exhaling. "A woman's arse—both blessing and curse. Pants just don't do them justice."

"Yes, I'm _so sure _that's the reason you don't wear pants."

"Eat the apple," Isabela pressed with a roll of the eyes. "We'll go out when you're feeling a little more up for it. There's still a long list of things that need to be bought before we take off again. You can help me do that later.

"And, Hawke…?"

"Hm?"

"That really is the reason why I don't wear pants…not that the other reason is bad either…"

*-o-*-o-*

It would suffice to say that Hawke had plenty of time to think things over.

The entire day had passed in silence since Isabela left her and it was enough to come towards conclusions on several questions that bothered. If what happened to her in the ocean really was a dream, then it certainly shook Marian to her very core. While unable to remember every single detail, there were moments and words and issues that burned themselves into her memory. Four in particular; two in which Carver said, and two in which Anders said.

If she were to summarize each moment into a rough generalization it would be that (1) Hawke has been selfish, so completely swallowed in the dark hole that is her guilt, self-pity, and pain that she failed to realize how it was affecting those around her and those who still needed her. (2) Enough was enough. Should have, could have, and would have are meaningless words that carry no weight at all. It was time to get back onto her feet and move on. (3) Something about her feisty pirate companion was taking root in Hawke's very being. She had always known how important Isabela was to her, even when she was dating Anders. The woman was there to collect the broken pieces that were Hawke. Isabela held onto them until Marian was ready to be put back together again, guarding those pieces, never daring to glue them into one, but opting to keep them safe instead. After all, the only one that could fix Hawke…_was_ Hawke. Isabela knew this. (4) And lastly, right before waking up, Anders chose to kiss Hawke's forehead instead of her lips.

At first it was a silly thing to ponder. Hawke stayed up for hours, day turning into night until her eyelids simply became too heavy to leave open. Even sleeping didn't offer rest, her mind would continue reacting and thinking and figuring, repeating this process until the answer finally came during the early hours of the morning.

You see, what Hawke figured out is that Anders did not claim her lips because they were no longer his to take, no matter how much she tried to think otherwise.

In the beginning of knowing this, the very idea was not only absurd, but painfully honest. Nevertheless, the more that Hawke thought of it and the more that she considered the time that had passed and all that had happened in between, the more she realized that it was okay. There was no harm in wanting to continue with life, because like it or not…life does go on after death.

Hawke had taken her time to grieve, so much so that she started to bury herself in a dark place with little hope of ever coming out. So whether the act of drowning in itself was more burden or blessing…she would never really know. What she _did_ know is that she saw things a little bit more clearly because of it.

"Stop moving," Isabela groaned, turning onto her side and facing away from the blonde. "Why are you even awake? The moon is still high. Morning won't come for at least another hour."

Hawke's throat had long since stopped hurting though she still felt weariness in her body from lack of proper sleep, "I don't think I even slept."

"You did," the pirate sighed tiredly, "because you've been talking in your sleep all bloody night long. I thought about gagging you, but then you started saying—" Isabela cut herself off and bit her tongue, instantly wishing she hadn't said anything.

"I said something? What did I say," Hawke asked, rolling over to press against the pirate's back and shake her shoulder. Her cheeks were a light pink and her eyebrows were slightly raised in curiosity. "Isabela," she whined. "What did I say!"

The brunette groaned again, bringing a feathered pillow over her face and pressing down to block out the sound. "You said '_Isabela, I give you permission to have your way with me_'…"

Marian rolled her eyes and shook the woman's shoulder again, "I did not. Honestly, what did I say?"

"If you're so sure about what you did and did not say, what are you questioning _me_ for?"

"You're being rather difficult…"

"Because I'm still _sleepy_! Some of us have been busy saving and watching over drowning champions all day and night for almost _three_ nights!"

Hawke chuckled warmly, lowering her tone to so that she wasn't so loud. "Okay, okay, okay…I'm sorry. Will you tell me later then?"

"Mmph," came the half-assed answer.

"Good enough," the blonde smiled, leaning over to press a soft kiss against the pirate's bare shoulder. "Thank you. For everything. I'll try to be better today and from now on, I promise."

Isabela opened her eyes slowly, still facing away from the younger woman. She stared intensely at the blank wall in front of her with the lingering sensation of Hawke's kiss pressed into her skin, the faint and yet still powerful feel of a pinprick that made her entire body break out in gooseflesh.

_I know this feeling._

Isabela squeezed her eyes shut and felt as if she were falling off a cliff as Hawke curled up against her back, callused fingertips from years of wielding a giant sword stroking soft patterns all along her tanned, freckled arms almost as if it were second nature. She'd never before felt as if her body were being turned to water from the inside out, or as if they were both whirling through space into an airless, black vortex. Isabela felt all these things, and above all, disbelief, a wild, terrifying disbelief that this should be happening—not because she was falling in love, but because the Maker only knew how this woman should need (want? _Love?_) her back.

And if there was one thing that Isabela had learned in the past two nights, it was that Hawke _must_ have some sort of requited feelings for her. The reason Isabela didn't want to tell Hawke of what she spoke of when she dreamed is because…it was Isabela's name that Hawke kept calling out, like a confession from repenting lips. Hawke would whine for her, desperate and deprived, passionate and fervent. Isabela had to contain herself on several occasions, watching as the warrior panted the pirate's name, her lean, strong body writhing, sometimes arching on the bed's cool sheets.

Whatever the warrior must have been thinking of…Maker's bated breath Isabela had wished she would be given the same dreams!

Hawke bit her lower lip as she continued her gentle ministrations, noticing the small bumps that formed all over Rivaini's skin.

"Isabela…?"

"Goodnight, Hawke."

"I…right, sorry, you're sleepy." Marian ceased caressing the pirate's arm but refused to move herself from the warmth of her body. "Goodnight."

_A/N: Thanks for all of the follows, favs, and reviews! Till next time._


	6. A Moment in Between

_A/M: Just a little idea I had. Have fun with it!_

…Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables,  
that he may run that readeth it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time,  
but at the end it shall speak, and not lie:  
though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come…

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 6: A Moment in Between

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Hawke could feel it._

_There was a hand on her abdomen, the flat of a palm tracing the natural V formed below her bellybutton, squeezing the soft skin where Hawke's legs joined her body._

_Feather-tipped fingers slid across to rest on top of her neatly trimmed, blonde curls._

_The digits pressed, tentatively pulling up towards her waist and making Hawke's slit elongate, her delicate lips drawing closer to each other._

_Hawke slowly lifted her hips and followed the hand, groaning when it moved downwards and began firmly rubbing in small, moderately paced circles._

_A small whine escaped Marian when a very familiar chuckle echoed in her ears._

_Hawke was ready and willing, continuously encouraging her tanned partner until a finger was pushed inside the warrior's warmth, transforming her whine into a hushed moan._

"_I_-_Isabela_," Hawke whispered with a tightening throat.

"Mm," came the disgruntled, although very groggy sounding response.

It was loud enough to stir Marian from slumber. When Hawke's eyes snapped open she found her cheeks flushed and hot. Her breathing had become ragged, and Hawke could feel an uncomfortable amount of moisture in between her thighs as she squeezed them tightly together.

"Oh, Maker," she said through muffled lips, her hand having come up to cover them as she snapped head to the side to look at Isabela. She was seemingly still asleep and relief washed over her face, happy that for now the woman couldn't see or smell the evidence of her dreams.

Green eyes shamelessly wandered over the Isabela's body. Hawke's chest heaved and she could feel the dryness in her throat when she attempted to swallow the prickles lodged in there.

Isabela was lying on her side and facing away, the bed sheet hanging low on her hips and only covering the woman's lower half. Everything else was bare, from the dimple right above that perfectly rounded bum, up to the entire length of her well toned back.

Hawke had always appreciated Isabela's form, finding the freckles that adorned her arms, chest, and the top of her shoulders particularly endearing. She enjoyed touching them, as if studied long enough Hawke would be able to find some sort of pattern or even the off chance of a constellation amongst the mass of light brown, charming spots.

But Hawke couldn't touch now no matter how much she ached to. She had a feeling that any contact with the sleeping vixen might make her explode from the inside out (or go completely feral with lust). Isabela was her dearest friend; a friend that just so happened to love sex, but not the commitment—a complete contrast to Marian who was not a 'hit it and quit it' kind of woman. Isabela was worth so much more than that. For Hawke sex came with affection, and with affection came feelings, with feelings came promise, and from promise came a relationship—a word that was not in Isabela's vocabulary. Marian would never put Isabela in that kind of situation knowing this. At least…not without a little nudge of encouragement from the woman…

So, instead of touching, Hawke swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up rather rigidly. She closed her eyes and took a breath, images and feelings of a finger pushing into her own slickness making her wiggle.

"Hey," Isabela mumbled, blinking wearily and turning to face the younger woman. "What's the matter? Did you have another nightmare?"

_Far from it. _"It's nothing," Hawke whispered, shaking her head. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Isabela frowned, reaching for the warrior with one hand and letting it rest on her shoulder. "You're sweating."

"It's hot," Marian said quickly, her body jumping and growing ever warmer at the contact.

"That's why I tell you that it's better to sleep in nothing at all," Isabela sighed. "And if that's not doable, then at least sleep in your knickers. Here, I'll open the window. Are you sure you're—"

"I'm fine. I just need to go outside and…and have a nice swim or _something_…"

Isabela uncharacteristically placed the back of her hand softly on Marian's cheek in concern. "Do you have a fever?"

"I…" Hawke pushed Isabela away kindly. "No, I don't."

"You just so happen to want to take a swim right now?"

Hawke could feel the pirate's eyes boring into her and she squeezed her thighs together even tighter. "Right. _Now."_

Isabela quirked a brow when the woman bolted out of their room. Several rapid footsteps could be heard pitter-pattering down the hall and stairs until Hawke was eventually inaudible. Isabela rolled over onto her knees and opened the window's shutters. The sight made her grin and lean over to lie down on her stomach, arms folding on the window sill while she lowered her head to rest her chin there.

Hawke was ranting about something madly, her arms flailing about as if trying to emphasize her point to an invisible audience. Isabela laughed, watching as Marian stomped off towards the ocean, stripping her clothes off along the way until she was in nothing but her small clothes.

"What are you doing," she called out. "Better yet, why can't you do that when you're in bed? Wait. You're not going to be melodramatic about whatever your problem is and drown yourself are you? Because I will _not _be saving you this time!"

"No," Hawke yelled back in a desperate huff.

"Then what are you doing! It's not really the best time for a dip, the water is freezing!"

"I'm counting on it," Hawke said softly through clenched teeth, plodding into the cold water without a second thought. Her skin broke out into hard bumps as she plopped down into the sea, the water falling right underneath her chin.

Isabela continued to watch for a small bit, weighing her options out before she decided to throw on her nightshirt and sheath her daggers. By the time she left the tavern and walked the path down to the beach, Hawke was already making her way out.

"Bugger-bum. I thought I would be able to accompany you, because you know what they say: if you can't beat them, join them. But since that's clearly out of the question now, would you mind telling me what—"

"Isabela, don't stand there!"

_Snap snap._

Isabela's eyes widened and she pursed her lips before shouting, "MAKER'S BALLS—Son of a—"

"Come here, come here, come here," Hawke laughed, splashing out of the water towards the hopping pirate.

"It won't come off!"

"I told you not to stand there! Stop, stop, stop," Hawke laughed harder, hunching over and chasing the foot that Isabela kept swinging around with outstretched arms. "There are sand crabs everywhere! You have to be more careful where you step at this hour because they're a little harder to see. You know that…!"

"That's not a sand crab! Sand crabs are small and cute, _that_ thing is a bloody kraken! Grab it, Grab it," Isabela hissed, flailing her leg about to try and shake the little crab off her big toe. "Grab it so I can bloody stab it and cook it!"

Marian snorted and wrinkled her nose after finally taking hold of Isabela's leg and steadying the woman. "Now stay still," she warned, reaching over to slowly pry the little crab's claw free of the woman's appendage. "There we go," Hawke motioned towards the foot, "there's just a tiny bit of blood. No damage done! Awwww, look at him…he's endearing!"

Isabela narrowed her eyes at the crab that Hawke was holding calmly in the palm of her hand. "Come here, you little shit…"

"What? No! I am not going to let you hurt Mr. Scuttles!" Hawke pouted her lips and bent over her hand to shield the crab from the seething woman. "Who's a charming sand crab? You are! Yes, you are!" She caressed its pale shell with the tip of her index finger and it practically crab-walked in happiness, snapping its little claws playfully.

Isabela's eyes widened, "Mr. Scuttles? Are you…Hawke, _no_! We are _not _keeping that thing! It…it bit me!"

"Well you _were_ about to step on it. It was trying to defend itself from your giant foot!"

"_My _giant foot? Y-You're seriously about to take this _thing's_ side over mine?"

Hawke turned around and extended the crab out towards Isabela, her eyes large and puppy-like. "Look at him! Seriously," she moved her hand closer to Isabela's face, "look at him! Tell me he's not adorable."

Isabela looked down at the crustacean who was sitting at the tips of Hawke's fingers, snapping angrily in her direction.

"You have got to be kidding me…"

"What?"

"You really can't see it? It's snapping at me. It hates me! It probably saw me coming from the tavern and planned the whole thing!"

"Isabela, you're being ridiculous."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

Hawke stared at her companion and tilted her head, "Of course. What is it?"

"This." Isabela roughly smacked the underside of Hawke's outstretched hand and sent the little crab flying. It landed in an unknown location, but was determined to have hit the water from the small _ker-plunk_ that both women managed to hear in the silence of night.

"Wha—that—Mr.—but—ISABELA!"

"Oops."

"You can't say _Oops, _because you did that on purpose!"

"Who needs crabs anyway?"

"I…okay I can't argue with you there."

"So then you're not sore about Mr. Scuffles, right?"

"_Scuttles_," Hawke corrected with a defeated sigh. "And no, I'm not. I just didn't want you to stab him."

"Good." Isabela walked alongside the warrior merrily as they made their way back to the room, "Want to hear the title of the new 'friend-fiction' I'm working on?"

A smile crept onto Marian's lips no matter how hard she tried to remain straight-faced. "Sure."

"_Aveline and Donnic: Mending her Wounded Coast. _It's a bit sappy, I know. But what can I say, I'm feeling romantic."

Hawke's smile widened and she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her, glancing over to take a peek at the now rambling pirate who was reciting bits and pieces of dialogue as they continued up the path. As brief as it might have been, for the first time in a long, long time, Hawke felt happy to just be. Her heart beat quickly in her chest as she listened, chuckling occasionally when Isabela really started getting into it.

As they continued, the walk took hold of Hawke's imagination and she dreamed like some sort of lover in a terrible Orlesian poem (_as I fall asleep at night, as I wake in the morning). _She knew better than to start anything, but once she got hold of the thought she wanted to pull the whole of it towards her, to make her dreams real, and soon, Hawke found herself slipping her hand into Isabela's, leading up to the action gingerly like the way a blushing bride leads her husband to bed for the first time.

There was a slight pause in Isabela's rant. Hawke was expecting the worse, maybe a roughly direct question such as '_what are you doing?_' or _'why are you doing that?'_ But the questions never came. Instead, Isabela took the warrior's hand voluntarily and held onto it, swinging their arms gently back and forth as she simply picked up where she left off.

Hawke squeezed tenderly, holding the offered hand in this way until they reached the tavern and parted in order to fit through the door.

"_It's going to be a good day today," _Hawke thought with a small smile, and she was right. This was a very interesting start to what was sure to be a very interesting day.

_A/N: Thanks to all of you who have read and subscribed! Jeez! To those of you who reviewed, thank you very much as well… _


	7. Heart worth the Breaking

_A/N: For this chapter I give due credit to __D. Geheimnis__ for the influence on its beginnings._

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 7: Heart worth the Breaking

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's was early morning in Brandel's Reach. Already fully dressed and ready for the day, Hawke sat down beside Isabela on the bed and watched what she was doing, "I've never seen you as quiet as I do when you're oiling your boots. You must be thinking of something pretty deeply."

"These are my favorite boots and that means that they call for extra attention. I can't have them cracking underneath the sun, now can I?"

"Would you like me to sharpen your daggers while you do that?"

"If you'd like."

Hawke nodded before getting up to grab her sharpening stone and both of the pirate's daggers. When she returned to sit on the bed, Hawke was sure to sit a little closer than last time, remaining quiet as she started to work at the blades.

Isabela peeked at Marian's profile, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as the both of them oiled and sharpened in silence.

*-o-*-o-*

_(Isabela's POV)_

When I was seven our village's healer told my father that his time in this world was limited. His sickness had spread into his lungs and his body was becoming much too weak to fight despite the healing touch of magic. My mother took to her duties and arranged his deathbed and gathered us around to say our goodbyes. He tugged at my hand and pulled me up into his lap, smiling gently, trying to tell me everything he thought that I would need to know about this world and living in it. That night, he ended his passionate soliloquy on the subject of love and what it would be like for me when it happened. You see, my father's side of the family are the poets and romantics. My mother's side…well, not so much. How he fell in love with her I'll never know, but he did and I suppose the rest simply fell into place...

Surprisingly after that, my father continued to live on until I turned twelve, somehow managing to cling to his very existence with the aid of salves and potions. Every night became his final moment, and we started this sort of morbid ritual where we would gather around him and offer the warmth and support of our love. But when he continued to wake night after night, my mother stopped taking me to his bedside. She put a stop to mourning the loss of a man that was still very much alive. And when he finally died, it was still startling, as if we had never even heard the news of his sickness...

That was my first, real lesson in life: Sometimes, things just happen.

Love is not so dissimilar from death. It presents itself at the most unforeseen of times without sign or premonition, enfolding you in its arms like a gentle (or feral) lover. You can try your damndest to pay no heed. You can struggle, battle, and resist all you bloody well like, but at the end of the day there will always be one single, concrete fact: Love is what it is just as all things are, and just as all things have the capability to be wounding—so does love. Make sense?

As a child I had certain expectations about romance. I took to my father's tales and songs with marvel and the steadfast certainty that I was predestined for a great love. To me, love was someone similar to my father: They were to be kind but not without sass, intelligent but not pompous, and a _great_ story teller. At the time I could have cared less what he looked like (my father wasn't exactly Ser Fantastic). My father taught me that as a Rivaini, it was in my very culture to have certain ideals and wants about relationships, physicality, sexuality, freedom, and…love. My people are very different, say, from the Fereldens. We are raised with a certain _gusto _for life without limitation and restrictions.

However, it's funny how life's road has a way of twisting and turning until everything you were taught changes. A few years after my father's passing, my mother sold me into marriage at a still very young age, and everything I thought that I was destined for as a child shattered bit by bit. When my husband took me to bed for the first time he was not gentle, he was not kind. There was no love in our bonding and I changed as I grew older beside him.

I began to mold differently.

When you have sex this way all the time, it starts to feel like its being done _to _you. That it doesn't really matter who the person back there is, just that it—meaning the backside—is there and available.

And so a lot of the time when he was going at it, my mind just sort of…drifted off. I'd think thoughts, sometimes fantasies like: a secret lover with a softer touch, or an equally rough touch but with passion behind their eyes, not at all like the dull lump of coal that would be behind me.

By the time my husband met his untimely demise (cough, cough), my views on sex had changed drastically. _Before_ I was taken and used by him, I thought sex to be sacred and special (I was young). _After_ him, I started doing it because I found out it could be fun. Then I had so much 'fun' with it that my self worth took a turn for the worst and sex changed into a weekly if not daily punishment. After a while I stopped all together and took a year to grow up a little.

_Now_, sex simply is what it is. I do it because it feels good when done right, and it's easily forgettable if done wrong.

But there's something I wish I could tell you as you sit beside me and sharpen my daggers. I wish I could find the words to say that when my husband bedded me…most of the time I would just imagine someone like you, Hawke.

Lately, that's a thought that I just can't seem to get out of my head.

*-o-*-o-*

"What are you thinking of," Hawke asked softly, pressing her shoulder against Isabela's and nudging the woman affectionately. "You have that look. Is something bothering you? Am I sharpening your daggers incorrectly? Is there a specific way you have it done?"

Isabela shook her head with a grin that made Hawke think that she knew something that the warrior did not. "No, you're actually doing a fantastic job at it."

"Then what is it?"

"...It's nothing."

"Liar."

*-o-*-o-*

_(Isabela's POV)_

Oh bugger, Hawke. You have that sad little smile encroaching on your lips. Stop it.

Ugh. What are you getting yourself into this time, Isabela? Even with my craving for adventure, I wonder if I knew then what I know now, if I would have gotten involved at all.

Little did I know at the time, that only a few weeks into being in Kirkwall would I find my reason to never want to leave the damned city—or at least to always come back to it.

I remember seeing you walk into the Hanged Man that night. There was a rather enthralling storm outside and you came running with your merry band of misfits close behind you. I remember seeing that door swing open and I could smell the rain and feel the harsh breeze whip about as the lot of you made your way inside, every pair of eyes in the tavern locked onto your body. But you didn't stall or shrink away.

The violence and noise I was causing attracted you. You wandered curiously over to where Lucky was making a scene with me. Your eyes locked on my smiling face and the moment my gaze met yours I knew that you would be all sorts of delicious trouble. I could tell by the way you moved: with such purpose and power and intention (I can hardly believe that you're the same woman who just last night named a sand crab Mr. Scuttles). I was interested almost immediately because of your swagger.

Then before I knew it, a year had passed and I was still around, following you on your silly little quests, offering my skills as a duelist and as a walking, talking lock-pick. (how many lockboxes and chests have I opened?)

Then another year passed, and then another.

I grew with you.

I was molding differently all over again. I was _being_ molded by your way of living, affected by the every day choices and actions that you made. It's scary when you realize that you have the potential to be and do better, but it's positively terrifying when you realize that you want to try and _be _such things.

It's your fault, you know. You— a woman unlike any other I had met; a woman who in the delectable madness of war had her charms concealed behind heavy, plate armor, and a long, two-handed sword. Oh yes, I knew. It's just by the time I figured it out…there was Anders. I will admit that for a while I hated him for figuring his fondness out so quickly while I was still too damned inhibited and selfish to do anything. But in my own obscure way I still attempted to let myself be known. I still flirted and tried my hand, of course. But you and your damned morals would have none of it—none of me. You called yourself a 'one-horsed carriage'. I then asked if I could ride on your dickey box, to which Anders seemed to appreciate my presence a little bit less that day and all other days that followed after...

What a prudent prig.

So I pushed everything back and continued on as if nothing had ever clicked. I put aside the fantasy and the woman who did not want me. And eventually it all started to fade—never completely, but just enough to where life could continue on as normal. _You_ had Anders and _I_ kept having my fun.

It was probably best for us both at that time, and it stayed this way for a long, long while.

Until now. Now everything is changing; I can feel it. You call out for me in your sleep and wake up flushed. I pretend to not hear, but I do and it drives me bloody crazy. You say my name as if it's something you've grown up knowing and trusting, something you hold delicately on the tip of your tongue but that you push past your lips with such…_fervor_.

It's maddening.

I should let you know, shouldn't I? I should let you know that I'm _scared_ and that you _shouldn't_ trust me because there's a very real possibility that I'll hurt you. It's what I do. If things get too serious, I run. That's the reason why I love the sea so much. It's ever changing, constantly shifting with the wind. It's erratic, inconsistent. It's unpredictable. I'm all of these things. And even though I've stuck with you all this time, I still get this feeling in the back of my head. It feels like a sharp pinprick that reminds me of the reality we live. It reminds me that people don't change, not really.

Not people like me.

*-o-*-o-*

"Well, you officially have the world's sharpest cheese slicer."

"It's not a cheese slicer. It's the dagger that goes in my boot, you goose."

Hawke shrugged with a giggle, "Whatever it is, it's ready to be sheathed. Are you going to join me downstairs for a morning meal?"

"I will as soon as I finish this and get dressed."

"Alright," Marian nodded, turning to walk towards the door. Before she left, Hawke paused to hesitantly look back at Isabela. "Are you _sure_ you're alright? It scares me when you think this deeply. And don't tell me that you're not thinking, because I can tell that you are," she teased.

"I'm secretly plotting your demise. I plan to smother you."

"Thanks for the heads up. Should I also know what you'll be smothering me with so that I can prepare a proper defense?"

"…I want you to think about what I would use _really, really _hard."

Hawke's eyes widened, "You don't mean to smother me with your…"

"Oh, I do."

"Maker's breath, Isabela. Does your arse ever get jealous of the crap that comes out of your mouth?"

"Get out of here," Isabela laughed, waving the warrior off. "And save me a seat at the bar."

"I will," Hawke sighed in resignation, nodding her head again as she left the room.

*-o-*-o-*

_(Hawke's POV)_

I like to think that I know what you're thinking, but it's an illusion to pretend that we can bridge the gap between your thoughts and mine. For you, every person is like an island. And two different islands can never be one land.

Two people together will always be: one plus one. Unattached. You prefer it that way.

_**I**_ prefer to think of us as bubbles, because when they touch they merge into one another… like when two people make love. But I know what you mean. Two people together will always be: one plus one.

It's a lonely thought…yet I can't blame you for thinking it.

We are who we are, and I would never ask you to change for me.

I would have you as you are.

_A/N: Thank you for reading._


	8. Breakfast

_A/N: Please excuse any errors you see as I am the only one who checks the document after writing it._

* * *

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 8: Breakfast

**. **

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"Good morning!" Hawke called out, smiling politely at the barkeep as she made her way downstairs and through the somewhat empty tavern. He was much younger than the man working a few hours ago (Hawke would know, she stampeded passed the bar on her way to the ocean), and most definitely handsome with his chiseled jaw-line and _almost_ patrician features. If it weren't for the large smudge of dirt across his cheek and his wrinkled clothing, he would most definitely look out of place in a tavern such as this.

"G'morning, Serah" he replied, a bit taken back by the woman's beaming demeanor. "I take it you slept well?"

Hawke sat down on a stool closest to him and shook her head with a laugh, "Not at all." Sleeping through and waking up to the heated memory of an unsatisfied wet dream is the utmost farthest thing from having a good nights rest. "But, it's a good day today! The sun will soon be high in the sky and the breeze will bring in the fresh scent of—" Hawke inhaled, instantly wishing that she hadn't. "…body odor and vomit."

"The name is Digby. I'm the tavern owner's eldest son." He smiled in a way that was both bashful and charming before wiping his hands on his cloth apron and extending one out towards her. Hawke's infectiously upbeat mood seemed to be making his lackluster one a bit brighter.

She shook his hand firmly, "You can call me Hawke."

"Alright, Hawke," he said, feeling the word out in the mouth, "is there anything I can get you this morning?"

Marian strummed her fingers on the countertop in thought, "How about some eggs, a bit of baked bread, and some fruit? Oh! Do you have jam," she gushed, "I _love_ jam!"

"We do have jam here, yes," Digby laughed. "We have it all if you have the coin." Hawke placed two silvers on the counter and the barkeep grew wide-eyed. "That's a bit much. A drink here is only three copper. So two silver coins are…"

Both slender hands rose in protest, "Then please keep the extra under a tab. My companion and I will be here for a few more days."

"You're here with someone?"

"I am," Hawke replied curiously. "She's a little taller than average, curvy, wears a sky blue bandana? I'm _sure _you've noticed a woman like her wandering around—"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean," Isabela asked. She made her way down the stairs and over towards a stool right next to Hawke, crossing one long leg over the other to show off not only her thighs, but her recently oiled boots, it's dark brown leather a pleasant contrast to her tanned skin.

Marian swiveled herself around and shrugged nonchalantly, "I just meant that you're a hard person to miss what with such gorgeousness radiating from your very pores."

"Ooo," Isabela chuckled, feeling a little bit more pleased with herself, "good save."

"I thought so too."

"So, what are you going to eat?"

"Eggs, fruit, and bread—_with_ jam!" Hawke clapped her hands happily, practically squirming out of her stool.

"…I sleep next to you stark raving naked night after night…and _jam _is the thing that dampens your knickers? Ugh, this world is twisted is so many awful ways."

Digby nodded his hellos at Isabela to snag her attention, his eyes landing on her generous cleavage before turning away with cherry cheeks. "A-And what will you be having?"

Isabela's keen eye caught his quick peek and her smile grew. She decided to sit up as straight as possible to push her chest out even further. "…I don't know," she said, her tone lowering to a gentle purr. "Do you have anything particularly…tasty to eat, _handsome_?"

Hawke withheld herself from grumbling, wrestling with intensely private thoughts and trying to sound as conversational as possible when finally opening her mouth to speak. "Just get her the same thing as me."

"Of course," Digby said, looking to Marian briefly before switching back to the pirate. "H-how would you like your eggs?"

"Unfertilized." Isabela winked one honey eye at him, adding more playful mischief to her already nerve wracking appearance before glancing at Hawke. To see the warrior disturbed in any way incited unease as well as curiosity in the rogue…and maybe a bit of guilty pleasure.

"Maker," Hawke chastised, swatting the woman on her bicep. There was no mistaking the splendor of Isabela's character, nor the carving of a physique just as attractively molded as her wit was. Yet as with anything, there were hidden layers to her sarcasm, most of it readdressed emotions from a woman who used to sitting in a position of careless freedom. But Digby didn't know of Isabela or her humor, and if Hawke didn't put this young man out of his misery soon, she feared that he might run a nose bleed and faint from sheer loss of blood.

Digby's eyes widened and his cheeks grew darker, "I m-meant if you'd like them boiled or f-fried."

Hawke threw her head back and sighed, the silvery highlights within the blonde fall of gently curling hair gleaming sharply in the muted tavern lighting. "Don't mind Isabela, she's a terrible tease. We'll both have our eggs boiled. Thank you, Digby."

Isabela chuckled happily, turning to steal a look at Hawke. "And what are we having to drink, _mum_?"

"Water, _dear._"

"What," Isabela deadpanned. "We're sitting at a bar and you're not going to order any sort of alcohol?"

"It's good for the body to have water or a light tea in the morning." Hawke seemed genuinely confused, "What's wrong with that?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with it," Isabela mused. "Not ordering a drink in a tavern is like asking a whore for a hug. It makes no sense."

Hawke pinched the area between her eyes tiredly, soon looking back up to the young man with an apologetic expression, "_Fine_. One water and a whiskey if you don't mind, Digby."

The young barkeep nodded his head quickly, catching another glance at Isabela before turning on his heels to go gather the ingredients needed to cook.

"Oh, he's _cute,_" Isabela said blatantly, tilting her head and watching the young man's bum as he walked away. Hawke turned her gaze back and forth between the kitchen and Isabela.

"He's also almost half your age."

"That just means he'd be very…_spirited_ in bed."

"And that he'd probably last a good three minutes in all that spirit..."

"If there is one thing that I've learned, it's that age does not determine experience."

Hawke raised her eyebrow and couldn't keep the slight look of distaste from her face, "You do realize that just made you sound absolutely terrible, don't you?"

"I've just noticed," Isabela scowled. "And I didn't mean it like that, you pervert. If it involves animals or kids I'm _not _interested. Although…what do you think sex on a horse would feel like as you gallop away?"

Hawke groaned, "It's only morning and I'm starving." Frustrated would be a mild word for what Hawke was feeling, because she was 'frustrated' on _so _many levels. Having a nice little chat about sex was not helping any of the matters. "Do we really have to start talking about this now?"

"I'd imagine you'd be quite sore afterwards…"

"…aaaand you're not listening. Brilliant."

"Mm," Isabela's eyes seemed to glaze over, dark lashes falling to shadow her gaze. "Legs spread wide, straddling his hips as the horse speeds off, its riders bouncing in rhythm with its powerful stride. He bucks into her tight, little sleeve and she groans, rubbing and grinding herself against his manhood, the evidence of her excitement glistening just underneath them, slicking the very saddle they ride on…"

Hawke rolled her eyes, placing an elbow on the counter and resting her cheek in her hand, "Then because the saddle is slippery, they both fall off and break their neck. The End."

Isabela gave Hawke an unimpressed looked, "You are _such_ a bore sometimes. Not to mention that if that's how you end your stories, you'd be a terrible friend-fiction writer."

"Whatever I may be, just don't forget to wipe your stool off after you get up."

After several more moments of bickering, Digby finally remerged with both plates of food. He set it them down, one in front of each woman before swiftly turning to leave again. Isabela laughed at his awkward manner, leaning into her food eagerly before starting to devour. The breakfast that he provided was delicious and both women found themselves almost inhaling it all due to the absurd hunger that they felt. Truly, it felt like the first time Hawke had eaten in a year.

When all was said and done Isabela turned around, leaned against the bar (a favorite position of hers), and patted her tummy contently. She smiled at the blonde, noting that, oddly enough, she was mostly composed of a riot of abundant coils of hair today, giving Hawke a bit more feminine charm than usual. Normally there was no time to preen and present themselves as anything other than what they were, but seeing Hawke like this now made Isabela's eyebrow twitch—a tick that only came to light under Hawke's presence as of late.

"Tell me, _Champion_…are you ready to start the day?"

Hawke stretched, happy to finally have food in her stomach. She nodded her head, gathering a mass of that golden hair and tying it up into a messy bun that exposed the length of her long neck. Isabela's brow twitched again.

"Let's go, _Captain_."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for the favs, follows, and reviews!_


	9. Winds of Change, Part I

_A/N: *taps the dusty microphone* ...is this thing on? Is anyone still out there reading this?_

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 9: Winds of Change, Part I

.

.

.

It was still early in the morning and majority of the island was either asleep or passed out drunk. Vendors were beginning to set up shop underneath the faint, pink sky, accompanied only by the singing gulls above head and the few early-morning dwellers of Brandel's Reach. This 'market' area was stunningly and oddly beautiful given the nature of its inhabitants. The thickness of the surrounding trees made the vicinity slightly warmer than it was down by the shore and tavern, but what made it lovely still was the faint, sweet scent of the flowers that grew around the tree trunks. It was as if the wind carried their perfume there, circling it around the small space until everything enclosed smelled beautiful.

Hawke inhaled deeply. It was vastly different from anything she had previously experienced on this island. "Well this is a bit of a drastic change. It's lovely on this side."

Isabela chuckled, "It's the flowers and the direction of the breeze. They have a much stronger aroma than the flowers in Kirkwall or Ferelden. But don't be fooled," she warned mischievously. "The reason they are in such abundance is because one touch will make you itch like mad."

"Speaking from experience? I already told you to stop picking flowers in order to make me those bouquets. I know you admire me but honestly Isabela, they're starting to take up a bothersome amount of space."

"Clever girl," the pirate said with a grin. "Or maybe it's because while you were unconscious, I went on one of my merry adventures and stumbled upon a handsome man who had his way with me near one of those bushels..."

"If that's what you did then I'm sure it's not the flowers that made you itch," Hawke retorted with self-satisfaction.

"Mm," the pirate thought aloud, eyebrow arching in contemplation. "You _might_ be right about that."

Hawke's smile fell from her lips and her eyes narrowed as she turned to view Isabela's expression. She couldn't tell if she was teasing or not. Eventually, Hawke opted for hitting the pirate on her shoulder who in turn offered a single nudge and the occasional smirk, both still apparently satisfied from each others company and a wonderful morning meal.

Isabela suddenly extended her arm and pointed sternly in the direction of a burly dwarf. "There's Bodok. I told him that today was the day we'd be getting more supplies for our—_my_ ship," she said quickly and coughed as if something were lodged in her throat.

"Oh that's fine," Hawke reassured, not seeming to notice the mess of words but still patting the pirate on the back in attempt to relieve her. "You can go on ahead and do that. I have something else that needs to be taken care of."

"Ooo, I like it when you say things like that."

"It's nothing terribly exciting."

"Come on, what is it that you need to _take care of_," Isabela pried, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Hawke smiled in a way that was only meant for her pirate companion. The woman was incorrigible. "Oh just think what you'd wish, because Maker knows there's no telling you otherwise once you've gotten something into your head."

"Secret Rendezvous?"

Hawke groaned. Incorrigible indeed, much like that of a horny teenage boy. "..._really_? Here? You think I'd have a rendezvous _here?_"

"We've been at sea for months with little time to dock in between. At this point just about anything starts looking attractive. I seriously just gave a batch of cucumbers a twice over back there. So come on, what is that you need to do? And will it be involving sex or gold and the ability to make off like bandits?"

"No. I'm going to—"

"Ugh." Isabela lifted a hand, her facial expression seemingly now lackluster. "This is where you tell me something mind-numbingly dull, isn't it. If you're going to take my fun at least leave my poor, deprived body my imagination. It'll help when I work the kinks out tonight."

"Then I'll just agree with you to make you happy," Hawke deadpanned as she turned away with a stone expression. "I've been caught," she continued, "I've had a secret lover on this island for as long as I could remember and have managed to keep him ...well, _secret_... up until now. Damn it all," she said in monotone, shaking a limp fist unenthusiastically.

"Oh, she's witty _and _beautiful," Isabela cooed, words falling from her tongue like silk. Knowing full well Hawke hated this, a slender finger curled underneath the blonde's chin and tickled there lightly, promptly sending Marian into a fit of slapping hands. Isabela chuckled at the dry humor of her warrior companion. "Fine, I'll play nice with you just this once. If you're not holding out on me then what's the real reason, sweet-thing?"

"I need a new weapon. If we were to get into a battle I'd be a bit on the defenseless side. I hear fists against weapons of a more pointy nature can be a bad thing—unless you're the type that's into people with nothing but stumps for limbs."

"Well it'd certainly never get boring between the sheets. I've heard that someone who can't use their hands or feet in bed must be very creative with...otherthings..."

"Maker, you really are deprived aren't you."

Isabela's steps slowed until she eventually stopped in her tracks. She laughed softly, a short sound followed by a rueful shake of her head, looking down for reasons unknown. "I'm sorry that I couldn't save your equipment. I know how much you adored your armor; you had actually found a big, clunky thing that still managed to make you look delicious. But it was either your armor or you to sink…"

"Believe me when I say that I'm grateful for your decision in choosing me," Hawke said and smiled, small and genuine while daring to lift Isabel's gaze to meet her own. Isabela's eyebrow rose. Hawke looked onto her friend so fondly then that the Rivaini took a small, involuntary half-step back from its intensity.

"You saved my life. Thank you..."

Imagination or not, color seemed to kiss the cheeks of Isabela's face, her eyes uneasily darting away from the green orbs that peered into her.

"Isabela, I—"

Isabela knew that look. There was _something _there, in the air between them, around them, above and below them. It was thrilling and excruciatingly terrifying all at once; so much so that her skin suddenly felt much warmer, almost feverish underneath the already bright and burning sun. "—oh no need to get all serious about it," she interrupted with another tense laugh, not knowing exactly how to respond but knowing she needed to stop Marian there for now. "Just consider it repayment for dueling the Arishok all those years ago. Now we're even! You know how much I hated watching you fight on my behalf. Knowing that I returned the favor makes it easier to manage—you know, my pride and what-have-you. Us sailors are very sensitive about our pride. And toast. Never touch a sailor's toast."

The hair on the back of Isabela's neck stood up; Hawke looked so much like she did the first time Isabela saw her what with that unwavering gaze and firm, confidant posture.

"Now we're even?" Hawke questioned. "I didn't realize we had been keeping score all this time."

Awkward.

_Balls. _Dark lips twitched into a frown before falling into neutrality. Slender hands wrung themselves together in an attempt to refrain from touching Hawke. She honestly didn't mean for her words to come out so indifferent. But no matter the person, Isabela still hated when someone managed to unnerve her. The act in itself was rare, so taming the nerves was unpracticed and discomfited.

Hawke turned her head to witness Bodok growing impatient in the distance, his hard leather boot tapping hastily on the ground. "I think your dwarven man is waiting."

Isabela nodded. "An eager sea-dog, that one. He doesn't like staying docked in one place for too long." The corner of her lip lifted. "A dwarf after my own heart. Anyways, I don't know how long we'll take. There are rations to restock and parts to be bought. We need more rope before Riggs begins to mope, and more whiskey to ensue much wanted frisky—I swear I'm not trying to rhyme."

"Fascinating," the blonde said dully, almost managing to crack a grin. "We'll just meet back at the tavern later. Try not to spend all we've saved in one place, will you?"

*-o-*-o-*

"_Pfft, coin is meant for spending_!" Isabela tilted her head in consideration, ignoring the echo of Hawke's earlier comment; this could be a _very_ important purchase and she didn't want to choose incorrectly. Perhaps a second opinion was in order. "Oy, Bodok, what do you think about this?" The pirate placed her hand on a cocked hip and posed for her Quarter Master. "Too much? I think it might be."

Bodok crossed his thick arms and smirked, watching as Isabela adjusted the small, stuffed parrot on her shoulder before posing again.

"Well?" She held out her hands awaiting a response.

"Nah, it ain't too much," the dwarf finally replied in a deep, graveled voice. "I'd get the red one though."

"Really," Isabela asked, turning her head to eyeball the puffy bird. "I thought red would be too cliché for a pirate captain."

"Cliché would be a live parrot, Cap'in. A stuffed one would be _completely_ different."

"Oh Bodok, what would I do without your invaluable insight?"

"Probably not consider buying a stuffed parrot for your shoulder."

"Hm," Isabela thought, scrunching her nose after another moment. "You're right. Too much," she sighed, finally resigning the idea of 'pirating' up her wardrobe for amusement, "let's go restock rations like intended."

The dwarf nodded, strolling along at Isabela's pace, he calls her attention to a few items here and there, stopping occasionally when the pirate queen began to browse. But when a sudden, brown blur bumps into his boss, Bodok reaches out to sloppily to snag it with little success. The blur, which turns out to be a boy in robes, runs past her, taking Isabela's small coin purse in the process. Bodok growls loudly, watching as Isabela does nothing then turning to make hasty steps in the boy's direction. "You sodding little blighter! Get ba—"

"Let him have his head start," Isabela said with a chuckle. "There's no rush; he won't get far." Something gleams under the sunlight and catches her eye. "Ooo, shiny," she exclaims, obviously in no sort of panic.

*-o-*-o-*

Tall. Broad-shouldered. These were the immediate things that Hawke noticed before tracing the long, curly black beard along his jaw. His hair had streaks of premature white. This man was in his early middle ages, still handsome even with the frown lines along his forehead and the crow's feet around his eyes. His attire was that of a blacksmith: a thick, brown apron, heavy pants, and a sleeveless top that showed off his solid arms. The morning air did nothing to cool the heat that surrounded his forge. Sweat already formed above his brows and on his chest. When Hawke strolled up to him and nodded her head, a hand simply came up to wipe at the perspiration before going right back to work. "If you're looking for a weapon you've come to the right place. I am able to twist this stubborn material into any size or shape with my hammer."

"What have you got?"

The blacksmith grinned, pounding away at red-hot steel. "What are you looking for?"

"Swords would be nice, but at this point anything of quality will do."

His eyebrows lifted in amusement, "Buying a gift for your husband, little one?"

"What a terrible joke. It's not feast-day is it?"

Soot covered hands ceased their movements as black eyes rose to greet hers properly, "The weapon would be for you_?_"

"No, not at all. I just like standing here in front of you inhaling all that smoke."

"You just don't seem like the type that would wield one, what with that pretty face of yours."

"How _dear_ of you! I'm going to write your name down in my book of enchanting people that win at life and deserve cakes."

The blacksmith chuckled and threw hot metal into cool water. Thick steam rose between them. "What do you need it for?"

"Oh, you know," she flicked a wrist, already quite annoyed with all the inquiry. "I was planning to run through the island stark naked, swinging the weapon around like a mad woman in hopes of hitting small children. Or chickens. I hate chickens, don't you just hate chickens?"

A quick, strange look was the only response she was given.

Hawke sighed. "I lost my sword to the sea and I need a new one. It's pretty much that simple, blacksmith. I can take my coin elsewhere if you'd prefer," she said, extending an open palm towards other vendors. "Or do you always badger your customers with a hundred questions?"

"Pardon, I just didn't take you as a fighter. I can see I was mistaken," the smith replied, still with a smile on his face. His eyes traced down the length of Hawke's arm until they landed on her hands. In the light of the morning he could see the faint imprints of scars and calluses alike. "By the looks of it, it seems like you prefer large weapons. Perhaps those that need two hands to handle?"

Thank the Maker Isabela wasn't here to hear that. Marian followed his gaze before curling her fingers in and letting her hand drop to her side. "It's what I usually prefer, yes. Have you any of quality already made? And don't cheat me smithy, I know what quality is."

"I have a polearm, but no swords or axes," he said simply before turning around to sort through his merchandise, every so often looking over his shoulder to peek at the blonde. "So, you say you lost your sword to the sea?"

Hawke nodded, letting her eyes wander tiredly over some of his less impressive wares. "I did. I lost my armor too, but better the armor than me. Still, the sword was precious to me and its loss was regrettable."

"Interesting."

"You say interesting, I say unfortunate. Have you anything for sale or not?"

"I do," the smithy replied, moving aside so that the warrior may look at the wares he set out.

Disappointment was starting to show on Hawke's face as soon as she scanned through the surplus of differing weapons. The blacksmith was talented, but none of the merchandise seemed to catch any of her interest.

"Anything you like?"

"Nothing."

He crossed his arms and looked at her. "It's all of quality, I assure you. Pick them up and feel them out. The weight and balance is perfect on most."

"There's no need. There's nothing here I want."

As Hawke turned to leave, a strong hand reached out in her direction but stopped just short of touching the blonde. "Wait," his deep voice grumbled as he leaned over to grab something underneath his counter. It was covered when brought into view but Hawke could tell that it was long and sleek. "You seem to have quite the eye. So look at this," he said. And what he uncovered made both of Hawke's brows arch; a sword, brilliant in metal and beautiful in design. Her fingers twitched in response to the urge of wanting to touch. The sword gleamed under the sun, accentuating its unexplainably thin blade, sharp on both sides and deathly pointed at its tip.

"My son found this metal out in the forest near the opening of a cave. It was night and he was making his way back from the shore when he saw something fall from high in the darkened sky, its body ablaze in brilliant hues of red and blue. He grew curious and found it lying within a large hole later that night. After taking note of its location he came home and told me of what he had found. We packed an ox and went to retrieve it immediately. This is what I was able to produce with it. You want quality? You want beauty? Here it is. It is my best work to date."

Hawke reached for it but halted just above its hilt, raising her gaze to meet his in permission. When he nodded Hawke lifted it from its case, eyes wide at how surprisingly light it was to carry, almost as if it were made of hollowed wood rather than metal. "This is a strange but remarkable weapon," she said, eyes tracing its length.

"It took me quite the while to craft. But the end result was worth all that effort."

"I would have to agree with you. What would you charge for such a weapon?"

The smithy ran a sooty hand through his dark hair, "I had never really intended to sell it before. But winter will be here before you know it and sales have been poor this year. I would have to consider the price before offering you an estimate."

In actuality the price didn't matter to Hawke. Being the Champion of Kirkwall had its perks; over her years in the city she had amassed a fortune that was no where near depleted. She just wanted the sword. "I don't have much time left on this island. The ship I came on will most likely be leaving soon. If I am to purchase I would like it to be now."

"I see. In that case I can see it selling for no less than... twenty sovereigns of Ferelden weight and print?"

Hawke considered it, twisting and working the sword out in her hand. "That's a small fortune you ask for."

"I think we can both see that the sword is not ordinary. Take into consideration the time it took to craft and that the metal must be rare. I would say twenty sovereigns and no less is fair."

The warrior looked from the blacksmith to the sword before quirking her lip in a small grin. "I'll make you a deal. I will give you twenty-four sovereigns if you package a good kite shield with it."

The blacksmith smiled triumphantly before kneeling behind his counter to gather a mass in his arms. "For twenty-_five_ sovereigns I'll not only give you a shield, but a dagger for your boot and a quality sheath for your sword. Deal?"

Hawke considered the offer. She nodded.

"Good exchange," he said in that baritone voice. He produced a thick object covered in more black linen. After placing it on the old, wooden counter he removed the covering. Hawke's face lit up. The shield was indeed well made and just as beautiful. Hawke's fingertip ran down its face, feeling the smoothness she found there.

"Have you heraldry," the smithy asked. "I can't paint, but I can fine-chisel it into your shield's wall if you'd like? No extra cost."

Those were three of her favorite words. Hawke retrieved a small handkerchief from her belt and showed it to the smith, pointing towards the small crest in its corner. She made no mention of its name, but the design was no other than that of the Amell family: two giant, winged creatures that reached for each other, their talons and feathers intertwining into a delicate, yet tribal design. "Can you do this?"

He observed it carefully, two bushy eyebrows furrowing together before he made a decision. "I can manage that, yes."

"Great," the warrior said with a genuine smile, taking the correct amount of coins from her purse and laying them in neat stacks by his hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you. I'll be taking my sword and dagger now, but I'll be back for the shield by the end of this evening."

"No need, I'll have my boy deliver it to you when it's done. Where and who should he send this to?"

"My name is Hawke and you can send it to the tavern. Tell the boy to leave it with Digby, the barkeep. It'll be fine with him until I pick it up. Send it covered by that linen. I want it wrapped tight."

"It will be done."

"Oh, and blacksmith? I wouldn't try to cheat me. The shield had better be with me by the end of the night."

"There's no need for threats, serah. I am a man of my word."

Hawke regarded him for a moment before nodding her head. She turned away and inhaled, considering the enticement of going for a walk since the day was still young. From the time when she had fallen over Isabela's ship to now, there _had_ been time to think but very little time to do it _privately_. Hawke thought of the dream she had had and of her dearest friend. She let her mind wander, beginning to walk off into the forest as if on mindless automatic. There were so many things to consider. There were so many questions to be asked and conversations to be had. But one thing was beginning to become increasingly clear: maybe it was time for Hawke and Isabela to sit down and have a _real _conversation.

Oh dear Maker. It was a scary thought. Neither one of them were very good at those kinds of talks. It was easier, _much_ easier to flirt and joke. It kept things light-hearted the way Hawke liked and the way that Isabela was used to. Life for Hawke had taken so many dark turns, and if there was one thing she could always count on it was Isabela's frivolous nature. It made her smile, made her dizzy with giddiness and gaiety. Isabela made life..._fun_.

Hawke didn't want that to change. She didn't want to scare Isabela away with the thoughts coursing through her head. Isabela's nature was clear; the woman was a rover. Hawke wasn't thinking when she reached out to take Isabela's chin, to force the woman to look at her, to show her such amounts of keenness and dedication. It was all so very...relationshipy. What was she even trying to prove? Marian squint her eyes in reflection.

All of _this_ started when she fell into the water.

These _feelings. _

She could only remember pieces of the dream she had after falling into its depths, and she smiled sadly as she recollected one bit: Carver. He had called her selfish, recognizing that she had been blind to her tanned companion. Isabela had done nothing but care and comfort the warrior through her grief, but never once had Marian bothered to ask how the other was holding up because of it. This, besides her weakness and wanting to give up at life, is what stung Hawke most. She never took the time to noticeher friend, to really _see _her. And now that she had started looking, reallylooking, Hawke found that she liked what she saw. Underneath the sex appeal and witticism was a good woman. Isabela, much to her own chagrin, had proven this time and time again throughout her later years with the Amells.

Hawke settled by a clear stream, sitting quietly at the base of a tree trunk but steering clear of all pretty-smelling flowers. She sighed softly, tipping her head back and letting it fall against bark.

Rapid footsteps abruptly became noticeable in the distance and Hawke stilled her mind and readied her sword. Someone was swiftly coming her way.

"Move! Get out of my way or they'll catch me!" A small boy in robes flew by, going way too fast to make any kind of detour, breathing heavily and jumping high over Hawke's extended legs. He growled as he almost tripped, hunching over after landing, fingertips grazing the grass below before managing to straighten up and continue on his way.

"What the—"

"Oh Hawke, it's you! Working hard?" Isabela said coolly, almost cheerfully as she too ran past and mirrored the boy's action, only with the seasoned grace and agility of a rogue, her legs pumping powerfully as she closed in on her target with each step.

Bodok was next to pass, much slower in his pursuit and huffing the entire way. He only managed to give a short-lived nod to the warrior, releasing a hacking cough in the process.

"Wait, what's going on!" Hawke stood up quickly, watching as the pirate, the dwarf, and boy disappeared into the forest with wide-eyes. "Bodok! Isabela! Who is that! Hey! What hap—" A short, shallow sigh pushed past her lips, watching in confusion as the three disappeared into the forest, a slight wind beginning to gently rock the leaves and branches of the trees.

"Bullocks," Hawke sighed. "Here we go."

_A/N: Small chapter for now to see if there are still readers out there. Comments, questions and reviews are always welcomed and definitely adored. Thanks, everyone!_


	10. Winds of Change, Part II

Sharp Little Pinpricks

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Chapter 10: Winds of Change, Part II

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'Impressive' wasn't the right word, but she supposed that the term 'noteworthy' would do; Isabela would give the boy-thief that. The boy was fast, perhaps from a life that required him to be as such. But he wasn't making effective use of his breathing; where it should have been controlled, it was frantic and desperate. One could hardly blame him: the terrain that he was currently using as his race track was demanding, what with its fair amount of fallen logs, thick brush, and wet land. Isabela follow closely and coolly, her eyes darting to and fro for any sign of advantage to be had. She noticed a split in the path up ahead. One road was low, which is what the boy was probably going to take due to lack of breath, and the other road was high, seemingly rounding about until the two paths became separate but parallel. Isabela decidedly branched off and took the high path with an evil smirk.

He wanted to cough now. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. It was only mere moments more before the boy couldn't withstand his running and came to a halt, no longer able to hear his pursuer. Cracked, little lips curled in excitement; it must have been that quick turn through a denser section of wood that threw her. He huddled behind the cover of a remarkably large fallen log, taking the small, stolen pouch of coins from his pocket for inspection. Little eyes widen in surprise as thin fingers poke through its contents. "...twenty-ni…no…thirty sovereigns!"

A dry twig snaps loudly behind him and the boy turns, quickly shoving his reward into his pocket again.

"And I'll be taking all thirty back. _Now_."

"Get away from me or I'll hurt you!"

A thick, shapely brow arched in amusement. "A spirited little brat, aren't you?"

The boy took out a small dagger then, holding the blade in Isabela's direction. His grip is tight, the knuckles of his hand turning much whiter than before. "I will! My da' taught me how to use this! I'm warning you! S-Stay back!"

"_Take it easy, boy_."

Isabela doesn't take her eyes off the small thief. She knew that voice all too well. "Hawke," she says in greeting. "I seem to have caught myself a thief."

Marian takes a small moment to assess the situation, her palm resting on the hilt of her new sword. "What's going on? What has this boy stolen?" She watches as the child's small blade is switched back and forth between herself and Isabela; He can't seem to tell which of them would be the bigger threat.

"I said to stay back! The coin is mine!"

Isabela's smile was that of half delight and half annoyance as she glanced over to Hawke before looking back onto the little pickpocket. "Is it now? Come on," she said sternly. "Give it here."

The pirate extended her hand, reaching out towards the boy who in turn slashes his small blade forward in an attack. Isabela intercepted the sloppy movement with ease and snatched him by the wrist, twisting as gently as she possibly could while still getting her message across. The boy cried out and dropped the dagger, too focused on his arm to fight against the tan-skinned hand that slipped into his pocket.

"Let this serve as a lesson," the pirate began, tossing the small coin purse in her hand to feel its weight before pushing the boy away. "You should watch your actions." Hawke looked on her companion. Was Isabela actually about to give the child some sort of moral message? The boy was obviously in need of direction if he was already stealing at his age.

"Look," Isabela said, sighing heavily after noting the child's broken demeanor. "Learn to pick your targets more wisely. I started with the elderly when I began pick-pocketing. If you're going to steal coin again, I suggest you start with them."

Hawke pinched the area between her eyes. _Wrong direction_. Isabela nodded towards Hawke, "Alright. We can go back now. I'm hungry. Let's—"

"—W-Wait," he said softly, rubbing his wrist. "Please. Please, he's hurt! I don't know what to do, and no healer will treat him without coin. I _need_ it more than you! Please! I need the medicine!"

"Treatment for who," Hawke asked. The child's face twisted in unspeakable sadness, small brown eyes pleading with her.

"Hawke," Isabela moaned. "Honestly, it's probably just some ploy to get you to shove all your coin out—"

"My brother," the little voice interrupted, quivering. "My brother is hurt badly. He can't move and I can't…" The boy's jaw clenched in obvious attempt to keep from himself from shedding tears. "…we have no coin. We have no home anymore. They kicked us out because they said my brother had gone soft. Last night…we were asleep when…they put a dagger in him and…and…"

"Steady," Marian said, looking to Isabela who's facial expression had now changed to something slightly less indifferent. The warrior kneeled down. "Steady yourself and slow down, boy. What's your name?"

"Merrick," he said. "My name is Merrick. Please, my brother—"

"Calm," Marian said again, silencing the now shaking boy. "Where is your brother, Merrick?"

"Not far from here. We tried to make it into town when they…but he couldn't walk for long and I can't lift him. He fell down by some big boulders over near the base of the mountain."

Marian took the boy by the shoulders firmly, forcing the lad to look into her eyes. "Merrick, you do realize what the consequences of lying to two armed individuals could be, don't you? If this is a ploy—"

"It's a ploy," Isabela said flatly, eyes rolling as she leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. "Honestly, he can just have the bloody coin if it means we don't have to go skedaddling off into the woods any further. All of the thorns around this brush are beginning to ruin my new boots." She lifted her right foot off the ground and motioned to it with a stern finger. "See? They've already been scratched."

"It's not a ploy," Merrick screamed, watery eyes glaring in the direction of the captain. "It's not a ploy, you stupid cow!"

"Stupid cow?!," Isabela's eyes narrowed in anger. "You little shi—"

"Can you take me to him," Marian asked, taking the child's small chin into hand so that their eyes met. "Merrick," she repeated. "Can you take me to your brother?"

Isabela snarled, throwing her hands up.

"Yes!" Merrick's hands darted to grasp Marian's wrist before he started into a brisk walk. "This way!"

"He is _such_ a sweetheart," Isabela puffed, watching the two fumble through the woods. She paced back and forth a bit before placing a hand on either side of her mouth and shouting, "I'm so glad we're helping! I hope his brother is _just_ like him, the darling!"

"OOOOOY!"'

Isabela turned her golden orbs in the direction of the howl; her dwarven Quarter Master approach, drenched in sweat and hacking as though he hadn't been able to catch his breath in years. "Bodok? A bit late to the party, aren't we?"

"Cap'n, I'm here," he spat loudly, stopping in front of Isabela and hunching over with mighty gasps. "I'm here, Cap'n! Where is the sodding little cut-purse? Let's go after him! I'll kill him!"

"…Bodok…" Isabela looked at her ship-mate in amusement. Dwarves were not meant for long distance runs. Maybe just short-distance sprints… or nice morning jogs.

"I'll wrap these hands around his neck—"

"…Bodok…"

"I'll tie him to the mast and let the seagulls peck his eyes—"

"Bodok."

"I'll—"

"Bodok."

"Aye, Cap'n!?"

"Return to the ship."

The dwarf threw his head back and inhaled deeply. "Thank the Maker's arse!"

Isabela placed her hand on Bodok's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, but I've got it from here. You…should go rest. Hawke isn't far from here. I'll just catch up with her."

"Whatever you need," the dwarf said, turning around to walk back from the direction he came. "You know where to find me. Oy," he muttered. "I need ale…"

Isabela chuckled before turning her attentions back to the tracks that Hawke and Merrick had left in the ground. "If you can't beat them," she said to herself. "Might as well join in on the misery…"

*-o-*-o-*

When Isabela had finally arrived it was to the sight of Hawke placing a wet, folded rag on a disheveled, pale body. The man lying on the ground was thin and brutally beat. He was stripped down to his under-linens and his stab wounds were dark and clear as day. His eyes were closed and if it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his stomach, Isabela would have probably thought him dead. Merrick was kneeling down on the opposite side of Hawke, watching every move she made like an eagle. The boy frowned at Isabela when she approached, showing his distaste for her company.

"I told you that I was not lying," he said softly, reaching down to take Hawke's place in caring for his older brother. Hawke stood up and made her way over to Isabela, pulling her off to the side so that they could speak.

"He hasn't woken up," the warrior whispered, glancing over at Merrick and his sibling. "It's not looking very good."

Isabela eyed the body on the floor carefully. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"He has. I checked his cuts. He had to have somehow managed to close his wounds. They were sloppily done, and he burned much of the flesh around the area, but he was at least successful in his endeavors."

"That's probably what made the poor sod pass out," Isabela replied, giving the body another once over. "He looks to have a fever."

"He does. He has a bad one. Merrick has been smart enough to administer elderberry to keep the fever at bay. He's also been sure to continually give his brother water to replace what he sweats out."

"_It's what my mum did for me when I would get sick_."

Both women turned to find Merrick looking at them. "My mum always used to say 'if you have a fever today then elderberry is the way'." The boy spoke the words with practiced precision.

"She must have been a very smart woman," Marian said, smiling softly at him.

"She was," he agreed. "She taught me and Flynn a lot."

"Is that your brother's name," Marian asked, making her way back towards the boy and sitting down on the opposite side of him again.

Merrick nodded. "My mum worked with medicines. We came over here on a boat when the Blight struck our town. But my mum…she got sick on the journey. A lot of people got sick."

"I understand," Marian said gently. "My family and I sailed from Lothering when the Blight struck. Do you know where your father is?"

"Dead. He never even made it to the ship. It's just me and my brother now."

Isabela listened on and winced.

Marian fell silent, watching as the boy cared for his brother with tenderness. "Merrick," she began cautiously. "What happened to your brother? You had mentioned some people threw you out and did this. Why?"

"Promise you'll still help him if I tell you?" Merrick looked at Marian, his deep brown eyes never breaking from hers.

"I do. I promise."

"After mum died it was just me and Flynn, and no one wanted to hire two boys from the street for work. But one day Flynn ran into this tall, scary looking man in the market square. He said his name was Quib. He told Flynn that if he helped him take something to someone that he would pay him lots of coin. After that, Quib and his group took Flynn in. They said I could come too as long as I didn't get in the way…"

"Go on," Marian spoke kindly. "It's okay."

Merrick regarded her briefly before continuing, "I don't know much…but eventually he started getting really sad about the things he had to take to people. I never knew what it was. He never told me nothin' other than what they were doing was wrong. Many days ago when Quib asked him to do it again, Flynn said no. He tried to convince him to just 'let it go this time'. They yelled at each other. Quib called Flynn names and said he was soft. He got his friends to beat him up and… to do that." Merrick pointed a small finger to his brother's wounds. "That's it."

Isabela moved closer to the pair causing the boy to eye her warily, "And you have no clue on what the cargo was?"

"No," Merrick replied softly. "Flynn said that even though I lived there I wasn't allowed to do anything for or with them. He told me to just stay out of the way and keep my head down. So I did…"

"That was a smart thing to do," Marian smiled. "Flynn sounds like a good brother."

"He's the best brother," Merrick retorted, lower lip quivering.

"Hey," Marian said, trying to catch the boy's eyes with her own. "It'll be okay."

"Oy," Isabela sighed. "Since your heart seems to literally be made of gold and you seem so intent on meddling with other people's business…I'll go back and have a look around town. Maybe I can find out more about this Quib and his boys."

Marian nodded with a fond grin, "They sound like the usual sort, so they shouldn't be so difficult to track or ask about."

"Oh yeah," Isabela quipped. "On an island of raiders and mercenaries, how difficult could finding raiders and mercenaries be? I'm so sure these men stick out from all the other men on this island. Maybe _these_ have fashion sense. Or smell good!"

"Thank you, Isabela."

Isabela eyed the two and released an irritated huff. "I'll be back. Oh, and kid?"

Merrick looked at her, raising his hands up to catch the unexpected pouch she threw at him. It was heavy and jingled when it landed in his palm.

He looked down at the familiar pouch in surprise, but when he looked up again Isabela was already gone.

*-o-*-o-*

"Right," Isabela thought quietly, processing and forming some fraction of a game plan. "The most sought out thing on this island is the drink. Mercenaries and raiders like to drink. Drinks can be found…everywhere." The pirate groaned and wiped her forehead with the red fabric tied around her bicep. It was the same fabric that Hawke gave her all those years ago, and it was something that she had always refused to get rid of. "This is going to take all day at this rate," she moaned, trudging off in the direction towards the village. "Okay, let's try this again: Drinks can be found everywhere, yes, but the most common place would most likely be the taverns. Since there is only one tavern in town…" Isabela stopped in her tracks. "Digby! Of course Digby! Ugh," Isabela frowned at herself. "Maker's bloody balls, Isabela. You're getting rusty, old girl. Either way," she paused, looking down at her cleavage and adjusting as necessary. "At least your tits still look good."

It wasn't long before the pirate had made her way back into the tavern where she had started her day. It was later in the afternoon now, and there were musicians beginning to set up in a corner of the tavern. Isabela looked around unenthusiastically and took a seat at the bar, leaning back on her barstool and turning her gaze elsewhere, hoping that Digby would finish his business in the back and come out to have a nice chat with her.

"Oy," she said loudly, pounding a firm fist on the wooden counter top. "Digby!"

Nothing.

Isabela sighed, turning around in her stool and leaning back against the bar. She didn't want to make an obvious ruckus. If any of these men worked for Quib and noticed her inquiries, she would have a very difficult rest of the day trying to gather information. However, ever since Isabela had walked into the tavern a man had been eying her; several men in fact, but this one was doing so a bit more aggressively than the others. Apparently her lack of company made him feel obligated to act, and soon he stood before Isabela after swaggering over. This would be the seventh time that he licked his lips at her, and Isabela was beginning to lose patience quickly. If Digby wasn't available, maybe this drunken idiot had something of interest to her. He looked like the shady sort.

"I like a woman with thick thighsh," he slurred, wagging his eyebrows awkwardly.

"Is that really the best you could do, big boy?"

"Yes," he replied. "No. Wait, no. Maybe?" The large man stumbled a bit until he sat in the stool opposite of Isabela, leaning into her and breaking any sort of personal space she might have had.

"You seem confused," Isabela stated, leaning back only somewhat. This man was already very drunk and Isabela was unsure if he was even capable of coherency much less recollection of anything useful to her. "What was your name again?"

"Uh," he belched. "Wendum."

"Why don't you go along and play now, Wendell."

"Wendum."

"Right. Wen_dum_. That's a great name you have," Isabela said flatly, wagging a finger at him. "Go along now. I would hate for you to deprive your friends of your presence."

"Hold on," he croaked. "Wait, wait, I can do better! I can shee that a woman like you needsh to be wooed good and proper-like! I can woo!" Wendum grinned and tried his best to stand up straight, using the sweaty palm of his hand to slick his hair back some. When Isabela rolled her eyes and turned to look onto something more interesting like the dust-bunnies gathering in a corner of the tavern, he leaned in to capture her attention with his bad breath. "Hey," he started, earning him a hard glare from the pirate. "I like the color of your eye-shadow today."

Isabela sighed. "I'm not wearing eye-shadow."

"Oh," he said, the smile slightly falling from his face as he thought of an alternative. "... then I like the color of your eyelidsh today?"

"Maker's balls. You're really bad at this."

"You know," Wendum continued, flapping a scolding finger at the pirate. "Makeup can make you prettier on the outshide, but it doeshn't help if you're ugly on the inshide."

"Unless you eat the makeup?" Isabela looked at Wendum's confused face before lightly placing her forehead against the coolness of the bar and closing her eyes. If this was going to be the outcome of her investigation then maybe she needed a drink too. A lot of them.

"Excuse me," the familiar voice suddenly chimed. Isabela lifted her head to see a giant mug of mead whiskey in front of her. "I don't mean to presume, but you had whiskey this morning…so I just thought you'd like another."

"Digby!" Isabela practically popped up from her stool in both relief and gratitude, stretching her arms out wide to capture the young man, reeling him in for a hard kiss. Wendum scowled and growled, being sure to take the pirate's drink for himself before heading back to his band of misfit friends.

Digby turned an instant shade of red, his hands flailing out stiffly and only stopping when Isabela pushed him harshly away with a wide smile. "Didby! Come here," she said, gracefully hopping behind the counter and dragging the innkeeper's son into the room where they keep their stock.

Once they were secluded from the others Isabela pushed the boy down into a wooden chair and sat on top of him, a leg on either side. Digby shook his head in protest. "I don't know what I did to get this b-b-but I feel that I should let you know that I'm waiting for marri—"

"Shh," Isabela cooed, cupping his face firmly in her hands. "I have a few things that I need to ask you, and I need you to be very, very...very honest with me." Slender fingers slid through Digby's hair and the boy's eyes fell to a half lid, his jaw slacking only just.

"W-what did you need?"

"Information," Isabela said simply.

"I don't k-know. My father has always told me to keep my eyes down and to mind my own busi—"

"That seems to be the reoccurring motto of this island." Isabela leaned in, pressing her breasts against his chest to give the boy a generous view of her cleavage. "I'm not after anything _extravagant_, Digby."

"Um…" Digby swallowed what seemed to be a ball in his throat and nodded his head. "I can t-try…I hear of lot of things around here…but…"

"Good!" Isabela sat up and got off of her man-seat immediately. Digby was breathing hard, trying his best to cover up the evidence of her teasing with squeezed legs and cupped hands. "Have you ever heard of a guy named Quib?"

"Yes," he replied quickly. "I hear that name a lot around the tavern."

"What else have you heard?"

"He's a leader to some group of men around these parts that deal in trades."

"What kind of trades?"

"I don't know," Digby answered. "From what I hear he is willing to do just about anything as long as the coin is good."

"Do you know where a woman like me might be able to find a man like Quib?"

Digby looked down into his lap and twiddled his fingers, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. "Not really; everyone who talks about him usually tell different versions of what's really going on. They drink a lot."

"What's the story that they've been trying to tell lately?"

"I've heard a little bit about a cave near the coast to the east," Digby replied, shrugging lightly.

Isabela's ears perked up. "What about the cave on the coast?"

"Well," Digby said, forehead creasing in thought. "I think I heard them talking about Quib having a meeting there soon. I don't know what for."

"That's brilliant, Digby!"

"I…did good?" He looked up at the bronze beauty with a small smile.

"_Very_ good, handsome. I'll be on my way now." Isabela winked before making her way towards the door. Hawke was right: it wasn't very hard to obtain information on this guy after all. If the man was a big-player in these parts, then she shouldn't have that tough of a time finding him either. Isabela stuffed several clean rags and a bottle of clear alcohol into her satchel from the inn's stock.

Digby watched as Isabela also procured some of the inn's summer sausages, cheese, bread, a small pot, a plucked chicken, and salt, only nodding towards her but never bothering to stop her.

"Thanks for these, good-looking. I hope you don't mind."

"A-Anytime," he stuttered. "Oh! Your f-friend's shield was delivered …it's right over there in t-that trunk."

Isabela turned to look at the trunk he pointed to, bending over completely to retrieve the item. Digby looked away, blushing harshly at the sight of a perfectly tan and rounded bum. "Oh," she cooed. "It's extraordinarily light weight. I'll be sure she gets this."

The innkeeper's son nodded vigorously, watching as the Rivaini woman exited the room with, leaving him with his hormones and deep breathing.

*-o-*-o-*

"Here," the pirate said, lightly tossing the bundle of goods towards Hawke before walking around the camp to collect the abundance of dried sticks and brush for a fire. "Do you want the good news or bad news first?"

Both women were already in sync from the moment they reunited. Hawke looked into the satchel's contents and removed the small pot, placing it to the side so that she could set up a place to hang it for cooking. "Let me hear the bad news first."

"My boots are scratched to shit."

Marian stopped what she was doing so that she could look at her pirate companion, brows furrowing. "Isabela…"

Isabela stood in front of Hawke and dropped the wad of wood she gathered. "Fine," she bemoaned. "I found out that Quib will be having a meeting of sorts down at the cave on the coast to the east, most likely later tonight or tomorrow. Also, in case you couldn't tell what that giant package was: your shield came in."

"The eastern coast at a cave," Hawke nodded. "Now we know where we have to be." She opened her large parcel and took out her shield. Hawke ran her fingertips along the etching of her family crest and smiled somewhat sullenly. "Good."

"Where has the brat gone off to," Isabela asked, noticing the lack of his presence at their small camp. Flynn was still lying in the exact same spot, breathing lightly and sweating profusely.

"To get medicine," Hawke responded. "Giving him your coin was a really nice thing to do."

Isabela shrugged, "If I didn't do it then I would never have heard the end of it from you. Besides," she continued, "I know that were the rest of the gang here…pretty much everyone but Varric would have me do the same. The boy was right. He needed the coin more."

Hawke remained silent, gathering all the materials she needed to finish constructing her cooking pit. Isabela tucked the dried wood underneath the now hanging pot and used her flint to light it relatively quickly while Hawke filled the pot with water from her skin. When she noticed small bubbles begin to form at the base, Hawke placed the chicken in along with some salt.

"I'm glad you brought some food with you," the warrior said. "I don't think that boy has had a good meal in him for weeks. You need to eat also, I know you must be hungry by now."

Isabela nodded, sitting down by the pot and looking deeply into the fire's flames. Hawke watched as the color of the flames danced along Isabela's bronze skin. Her eyes trailed along the woman's face and shoulders, chest and arms and the sight made her stomach rumble with butterflies. Hawke couldn't deny how fond she was of her eccentric companion, nor did she want to. However the time was coming when the two of them would have to talk about the things that were happening between them. Their friendship was changing into something different and deeper before their very eyes, but it was as if the two of them simply couldn't find a way to connect the bridge. Considering that neither of the two were a stranger to the idea of sex or intimacy, it was proving rather ridiculous to find a way to express their keenness for each other in a way that only lovers could. "Isabe—"

"Is he dead? Am I too late, did he die?"

Hawke turned to see Merrick frantically fumbling towards them, completely ignoring the food in the pot and choosing to sit beside his brother to administer some medicine. "I was given something to help the infection from his wound. And this herb to help get his strength back up. I have to mix it with water and force him to drink every so often. Is he okay?"

"He's still here, Merrick. Take it slowly and don't worry so much. You're doing everything that you can."

"But what if it's not enough," the boy asked aggressively. He did not want to think of a life without his brother. He wouldn't know what to do.

"Then you mourn," Isabela said coolly. Merrick looked up at her with wide, tear brimmed eyes. He blinked repeatedly so his tears could not fall. "You mourn him," Isabela said again, softer this time. "You're doing what you can, boy. But sometimes these things happen. And if it does, you just have to be prepared for what lies beyond that. Life will always continue after death. It's harsh but true. If your brother needs to go, then he will go and you will stay."

Hawke looked at the boy but said nothing. Isabela was right. She wished with all of her might that the boy would not have to learn this lesson again and be left alone. He had lost so much already. But if Flynn did not make it, then he would have to be prepared for what was to come.

"But..b-but…" Merrick clenched his smaller fists tightly. "I don't want to mourn. I don't want to be alone without my family. If Flynn d-d-dies, I'm scared that I won't ever stop crying. And boys aren't supposed to cry!"

"Can I tell you a story that a dear friend of mine once told me?"

Merrick looked at Hawke with defeated eyes, nodding because he felt like he had no other choice. Marian looked down into her hands and inhaled deeply, remembering the moment that Aveline had pulled her over to talk when Hawke's mother had been killed. Her red-headed, freckled friend sat her down in a chair with a drink:

"_Have I ever told you about my father," Aveline asked, leaning against her desk with folded arms._

_"You've never talked about him..."_

_"My father," Aveline began, "trained me in all the skills he had been forced to give up. He spent everything to get me into Cailen's service. But do you know what I remember most? When he read to me... stupid things; dragons and heroes. He wouldn't turn a page until I reached over and took his hand. That big man made every step of the story my choice. I loved that. He died of the wasting in a Denerim ward...those last weeks, I read to him. I had to take his hand to turn the pages. And I couldn't tell if he was too weak, or if it was the old game. He smiled at that, at his big girl." Aveline laughed, a short, thoughtful sound. "I don't know why I'm telling you this specific story, actually. Another drink?"_

_"I could use another."_

_"As much, or as little as you want," Aveline said sternly. "That's what I'm trying to say. No one tells you how to mourn. And when someone says 'move on', you take their hand and say 'my choice'. That's all."_

Merrick looked down at his pale skinned brother and squeezed his eyes shut as burning tears fell down his cheek. Marian moved to him, placing a hand on his shoulder before turning her attentions to Flynn. "Hey," she said softly. "We're not there just yet. You have medicine and that gives him a fighting chance. So don't cry just yet. His fight is not over."

The boy nodded furiously, wiping his tears roughly away with his ragged clothing before beginning to administer care.

"I miss my big girl," Isabela whispered with a smirk.

"Me too," Hawke laughed. "Do you remember that first time when we had the whole group together at my uncle's house?"

Isabela cackled happily, "I couldn't forget that night if I tried!" She smiled as she stared into the fire. Her memory of that evening was so warm; it was as if it had just happened. The fire from the cooking pit was suddenly the fire from a fireplace, and she could hear the drum's beat reached an energetic and rhythmic pace in her mind.

_"Well this was unexpected," Aveline grinned. "Where exactly did you learn to dance like that, Hawke?"_

_Hawke laughed and placed her cheap glass of wine down. It was night and the only source of light came from the small fireplace and candles that cast playful shadows around the room. Lowtown was throwing some sort of festival tonight. And while the merry band of misfits decided to take the night off, weary and still healing from aiding Mistress Selby and her flock of apostate mages, it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy themselves. Spirited music could be heard through the windows and walls that surrounded Gamlen's house, and everyone decided to have a few drinks after a semi-decent meal. Leandra and her brother had stopped bickering just long enough to go and enjoy the carousing, leaving Hawke, Merrill, Isabela, Aveline, Anders, Varric, and Bethany to themselves. _

_Bethany giggled and curtsied gracefully in front of her older sister who bowed as a man normally would. The young mage smiled widely, taking Hawke by the shoulder and hand. "We learned from one of the women that took refuge in Lothering during the blight," Bethany said. "She was from Highever. She said she had been the hand-servant to a Master Cousland and was allowed to sit in during his one and only dance and etiquette lesson, so she—HAWKE!" Bethany squealed in laughter as Hawke twirled her around before catching and dipping the young woman dramatically. _

_Varric clapped loudly, whistling and shouting while Merrill stared on with wide, curious eyes, the smile never once fading from her lips. Aveline had been leaning against the wall with crossed arms. She couldn't help but smile either. _

_"Come on, Kitten. Let's put them to shame." Isabela winked and extended her hand._

_Merrill shook her head vigorously. "Oh no, I c-couldn't. I wouldn't know what to—with the feet and the_—_it all looks so complicated!" But it was too late. The pirate had yanked the elf to her feet with a jovial laugh. At first Merrill couldn't move. Blood had rushed to her face and for a second she feared that her cheeks would never return to their normal color. But as the infectious beat from the drums filled her ears and the vigorous cadences from flutes and fiddles drowned out her senses, Merrill eventually found herself bouncing to the music. Isabela observed the mage for a moment, and then in a flash she smiled, the expression becoming wider and wider. Merrill began letting herself go and danced harder and harder until Isabela was showing off the brightest smile anyone had ever seen of the pirate._

_It was adorable that the ex-captain was so doting._

_Merrill, much like Bethany, was squealing in delight, flailing her arms and stomping like a happy child to a dance and music that was foreign to her culture. But it felt— no it __**was**__ perfect. This night was perfect. Merrill was surrounded by her friends, her insides warm from a small amount of liquor. Tonight, __**they**__ owned the world. Not the Templars. Not the Chantry. Not kings or queens. Them._

_Hawke twirled Bethany in time to the melody before shoving her towards the Dalish elf. Both mages latched on to each other and bounced happily to the music, heads thrown back in laughter. Isabela turned and gave Aveline a look, walking over to her with grabby hands and a lecherous grin. The guardswoman frowned. _

_"Don't even think about it, you wanton tart."_

_Anders, still new to the group, had watched them quietly from his seat, the beginnings of his manifesto cradled carefully in his lap. He felt the corner of his lip start to rise. There was a war between the templars and mages just outside these very walls; this was certainly no time to dance. Yet...times like these were becoming increasingly rare. And these people were exceptional. Well, __**most **__of them were exceptional. Anders chuckled upon watching the pirate pester the increasingly red faced ginger._

_And then...his hazel orbs fell on Hawke. _

_Varric looked at him. "Blondie, why aren't you asking any of these beautiful women to dance?"_

_"Why aren't you?" _

_"Bianca would get jealous," the dwarf said with a smirk before taking a swig of his ale. "Hawke is looking lonely over there. Why don't you go and get to know her a little better?"_

_"I don't know. Two left feet I guess," Anders said with a shy grin, fingertips fiddling with the binding of his writings. "There's music playing and…I can't really dance."_

_Varric eyeballed the flailing going on before their very eyes. By this point he couldn't tell if Bethany and Merrill were dancing or having seizures. "Something tells me that won't be a problem in this group..."_

It had been a good night, one of the first nights that both Hawke and Isabela had remembered fondly. Isabela breathed softly to break herself of the memory and looked around the camp. Somewhere between then and now she had become completely oblivious to the man who was suddenly trying to sit up and drink water.

"Easy," Hawke said. "You're hurt badly and you need to rest. You've been given medicine."

"Where is he," Flynn spat, trying his damndest to get to his feet only to have Hawke stop him. "Where is Quib! I have…tonight I have…" Flynn swayed and fell back with a groan.

Merrick wiped Flynn's forehead, "Brother, you need to lie down. You're not well!"

"I need to stop Quib," Flynn hissed, not having to strength to sit up again. "He has her. I need to save her. I promised her that I would get her out..."

"Who," Isabela asked, moving over towards the other three. "What is it that Quib is trading or selling?"

"A woman," Flynn said through his dry mouth. "He's going to sell a woman tonight."

"He's selling a woman? To who? What for?"

"She's a mage—an apostate," Flynn said, his eyes beginning to sting from tears. "She was fleeing from the Templars and the fallen Circle. He's going to give her back for a reward! They'll make her Tranquil! Or worse! It's horrible for mages now!"

"Why does that concern you," Isabela asked, eying the older brother curiously.

"Because I love her," he said harshly, defeated by his weakness and inability to act. His body had turned against him. "And if Quib scares her badly enough…he'll force her to…she'll…she doesn't want to hurt anyone! She's trying to learn!"

"Calm yourself," Hawke said again, firmly this time.

"We were all going to get off this damned island," Flynn grumbled softly. "I've been saving my coin. I was going to get us off the island and find a place to build a small home and garden: a really good place where Lily and Merrick could have decent lives. But Quib," he snarled, breathing heavily and with pain. "Quib couldn't just leave it be. I pleaded with him, told him to let her go – that I would pay for her. But he would have none of my coin. It wasn't enough for him. He said he didn't have time for men with feelings, said that it got in the way of good business. He called me soft, stabbed me and threw me and my brother out to the wolves."

Isabela frowned. "It makes no sense. Why would Lily even come to this island? There are places to the far, far North that are far safer for an apostate. How did she get here?"

"She didn't have a choice. This is where the ship docked. Lily had told me the most peculiar story about two women who helped her escape Kirkwall once she was found. There was only one ship leaving that day and they helped to make sure she was on it. This bloody island is where the ship came, and so this is where she landed."

"Two women? Helped a known apostate? In _Kirkwall?_ Home of the angry Templars? Now that _is _peculiar," Isabela thought, looking over to Hawke.

"Aye," Flynn nodded. "She didn't know why they helped her… but Lily was in no position to refuse. What made it odder still was that Lily swore that one was a Grey Warden, and that the other must have been a Dalish elf. Lily said she was covered in markings and had the strangest accent…but the women were kind, so she paid no heed."

Hawke's face went pale in disbelief.

"No. It can't be…"

She only knew of two women that fit that description, and there was no way that they were still in Kirkwall. It would have been too dangerous a decision for them to stay, and Hawke knew damned well that her sister couldn't be that daft...

Could she?

_A/N: As per usual, your comments and reviews are loved and do well to encourage me to continue. Thanks for taking the time to read!_


	11. Winds of Change, Part III

Sharp Little Pinpricks

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Winds of Change, Part III

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Small drops of water falling into tiny puddles were heard all around them, and the smell of the sea and salt was strong in their noses and on their lips. No one expected how deep and lengthy this cave would actually be. Gentle, flickering flames from individually placed torches were the only source of light to be had from within its depths. Hawke and Isabella walked in silence, their eyes and ears open and searching for any clue to Lily's whereabouts. They had been walking for what felt like over an hour, following the twists and turns of the cave-walls and the poorly placed torches from mercenaries.

"This has to be it," Isabela said softly, her lip curling in frustration. "We are on the aforementioned coast, searching in the aforementioned cave, for Flynn's aforementioned apostate lover. Yet," she continued, tone seemingly growing sourer, "here we are –apostate-less."

Tiny hairs stood up on the nape of Hawke's neck, eyes carefully shifting around her environment. "Either something is not right or we just haven't found the right place."

Isabela sighed, gently grabbing Hawke's forearm to pull her to a halt. "We've been walking too long. A trade wouldn't be happening this far in. If anything, I would imagine it being back on the beach or the cave's entrance. Not here. From my experience, you get the coin and send the parcel on its merry way. It's quick, easy, and effortl—."

"—down," Marian hissed, grabbing Isabela's shoulder and tugging her into a kneeling position behind a small wall of stone.

"_Andraste's bloody arse, if I have to listen to that bleedin' man one more time I'm going to run em' through with me blade!"_

Marian watched as a pair of Mercenaries came into sight. The taller one clenched the hilt to his dagger tightly. His jaw was tight and the muscles inside of his cheeks flexed.

"_Easy, mate. Let's just get the job done, yeah? If Quib wants to sit on his arse while we do the dirty work…we just get a bigger cut. We'll just load her up, make the trade ourselves, and when the coin gets handed back…we'll slip a few extra before the goods get handed back over to Quib. He'll never know the wiser."_

"_Ain't no one in their right mind steal from Quib…"_

"_Which is why he never checks what he gets back, eh? You ever seen em' count his coin?"_

"_No?"_

"_Exactly. Everyone is so bleedin' scared of em' that he can't even imagine his own coin getting' stole right from under his nose. It's easy pickings, yeah? Come on, let's go see if the goods are there and ready for packing."_

Hawke looked at Isabela and nudged her in their direction. Both women moved slowly and with the seasoned silence of a wild cat stalking their prey. There was still many more minutes of walking, following along the many twists and turns that the vast cave had to offer. Hawke and Isabela stayed in silent pursuit, stopping behind cover only when the tunnel finally gave way into an immeasurable open space made of moss and stone. Moonlight filled the room through a large hole in the ceiling, flooding the area with a gentle, white glow. A dying fire was in the center of the room and next to it was a large, iron cage. It was difficult to tell, but Hawke could see the curled up form of a person inside of that cage. Beyond the grand, open room were several other tunnels.

Both mercenaries eyed the individual. "_We better feed her before she makes the move. If she gets sick or weak we'll never hear the end of it from Quib."_

"_Yeah, yeah. We all know nothing is allowed to happen to his precious girl. We'll grab a bowl of whatever old Don is cooking for ourselves then come back. It's meal time. I ain't gonna eat cold food just because she's hungry."_

"_Aye."_

An eerie silence filled the large space once both men departed towards their meal, walking down one of the many dark tunnels that lay beyond.

"I don't see anyone else," Hawke whispered, looking over at her companion.

"Neither do I," Isabela nodded. "…let's get the girl and go. Quietly."

"_Who is there? Hello? Is someone there? Please, help me…"_

Hay, mud and filth littered the floor of the iron cage. Dried dirt and blood stained the young woman's tattered robes, legs, and hands. Even from a distance Hawke could see her disheveled appearance. While the mercenaries might have been treating her harshly, there were no outward appearances of physical abuse. Lily clasped tightly to the bars of her prison, putting her face in between the iron in attempt to see.

"You're not one of them," the apostate spoke softly, quickly turning around to make sure no one else was listening or watching. "Please, help me! I've been—"

"Calm your tits, Lily. Flynn told us about you. We're here to help. Now quit flapping your lips before you get us all caught." Isabela quickly made her way to the large, iron cage, furrowing her brow as she took notice of the door's lock and chain. "Give me a few minutes," she said coolly, removing two thin tools from her boot before placing them inside of the lock and clicking around.

"Flynn," Lily's mouth twisted into half a smile and half a sob. "I knew he would pull through. I knew he wouldn't disappoint…"

Hawke clenched the hilt of her new sword and shield tightly, twisting the leather in her hands until she felt a light burn. It always seemed to take the edge off of her nerves. "Stay silent, Lily. Isabela…"

Dark brows furrowed deeper. "I know," she mumbled, holding a third tool in the corner of her mouth. "We're losing our window. But I'm just…about…there."

Lily's heart thudded in her chest, releasing the door's bars from her grasp so that it could swing open with its own weight. Isabela held the door open for the mage with an increasingly annoyed disposition. But when Lily lifted her foot, showing the reason in why she could not go further, Isabela slapped a palm to her face and groaned. A shackle and heavy chain held her in place, attached firmly to the iron monstrosity.

"Just break the damned chain with your fancy new sword," Isabela hissed. "We need to go."

"If I swing and hit that chain, the echo will flood right through those tunnels and attract every mercenary inside of them."

"And if we get caught we'll attract every mercenary inside of them regardless."

The sound of Lily moving the large chain was enough to gather the attentions of both women. "The lock that ties the chain to the cage is much smaller. Is it easier to pick than the shackle?"

Isabela's eyebrow arched perfectly. Her honey orbs traced the chain until she found the smaller lock half hidden beneath straw and filth. She squeezed into the cage silently, kneeling down and hunching over with her tools once more. "This is manageable. It shouldn't be but a minute."

Hawke exhaled gently, nodding her head before surveying the room's exits.

"A minute is good," Lily said softly.

"_Alright, let's take this back to the girl before she has a bloody conniption." _Mercenaries.

Isabela could feel the sweat begin to form over her brow as she worked, watching Hawke move towards both of the mercenaries in her peripherals. The warrior took position against the wall under the secrecy of shadow, her back flat against the cave's cool stone. She readied herself, lifting her sword and waiting for the moment when both men entered the room so she could quickly end them with a silent, unsuspecting strike and thrust.

"A minute is all I need…"

Isabela jumped up upon hearing the loud slam of iron doors closing. The shackle was now empty, its former prisoner standing outside of the iron coffin. Her hand was placed over the door's lock, a faint red glow and harsh heat radiating from it. Isabela's eyes widened as she approached the door, shaking it in realization that the mage had smelted it shut. "HAWKE!"

Lily laughed, pleased at her performance. "She's beside you, boys!"

Marian's eyes shot to Isabela before she lifted her shield on instinct to block an incoming blow from an enemy mace. "LILY," Hawke screamed in anger, pushing the mace away before thrusting her sword into a man's gut.

Isabela clenched the bars of her confines angrily, pressing her body into the door in any attempt to be closer to the apostate. "Listen to me," she said softly so that only Lily could hear. "…when this is done and all is said…I'm going to end you. I'm going to remove your hands…and take your eyes and tongue…"

"Empty threats," Lily laughed, waving her off without so much as a glance, watching instead as Hawke fell the second mercenary. "I'm afraid your time ends tonight, dear woman. You won't be going with us."

Isabela snarled, kicking the door to her cage harshly before looking over to Hawke, watching as mercenary upon mercenary flooded through the tunnel. They surrounded Hawke like vultures, only making a clearing when a large, muscular man in black leather armor made his way through, clapping slowly with an expression of contentment. "I'm impressed, Lily."

The apostate released a jovial chuckle, winking at Isabela before joining the circle of mercenaries. Hawke's face was distorted in rage, every once in a while swinging her sword out to ensure that no one intruded upon her space. "Lily," she spoke in tone that was more feral than anything else. "What have you done…"

"What have _I _done?" Lily laughed lightly, waving at the warrior as if she had just told a flattering joke. "I wish I could take credit for such a delicious plan. But sadly," she sighed, "it wasn't me."

"Then who," Hawke demanded. "Why!"

"…I'm sorry…"

Green eyes grew in surprise as she witnessed the small boy appear from the swarm of men, his older brother walking weakly behind him, a hand always over the boy's shoulder.

"M…Merrick?"

"This is my family now," he said, his voice growing softer. "I…I wanted to help them…I didn't know you would be so nice…I'm…I'm—"

"Flynn, you COWARD," Isabela roared, kicking at her door once more in any attempt to free herself. "Allowing yourself and your little brother to—"

"Shut it, Isabela," Flynn spat, wincing and holding his side. "THEY took us in when no one else would!"

Quib patted the elder brother's shoulder roughly, making the boy cough. "That's my boy! You two might just get yourself a little promotion, eh?"

"How could you let them do this to you, Flynn?" Hawke shook her head, her tone softening. "…all of those wounds? How could you risk your life for a reason or cause you know nothing about? Who would have watched your brother had you died?"

"But the boy is fine," Quib laughed. "It was only a small stab in an insignificant place! He played it out well!"

"And for what," Hawke sighed sadly, lowering her sword some. "For what, Flynn? What is all of this about? Do you even know?"

Flynn looked down to Marian's long, leather boots. "…I…"

"He doesn't need to know," Quib said with a smile. "He did it for his _family._"

Flynn's expression fell. He squeezed Merrick's shoulder lightly. "Come on. Let's go rest."

Hawke pointed her sword at Quib. "What do you want?"

"There's been a rather large sum of coin offered for the return of the one who caused all that commotion in Kirkwall. What was it for, again? The destruction of the Chantry and the starting of an all out war of steel and magic?"

Hawke could feel her jaw slacken. Even after all this time…

"Oh, my dear," Quib continued. "I've been searching for you for a very long time. And when I caught wind of a very peculiar brig docking on this island I just had to check. I was worried that I might have missed you…but lucky enough…for one reason or another you had to stay for a while. When Merrick offered his services, bless the young boy's heart, I just couldn't resist the offer. He took your pirate wench's purse just like I asked of him. He led you to his brother. He fed you the story I whispered so exactly in his ear. And you? You just filled out all the gaps by yourselves." Quib smiled from ear to ear, pulling out letter-parchment and reading it over for what seemed to be the hundredth time. "So what do you say we finish this little tiff up and get moving, hmm? There are one or two other names that have come up. I would like to capture _them_ as well. So, boys, let's get her tied up."

Hawke raised her sword as her mouth knotted into a scowl. "Anyone who dares touch me gets their manhood removed."

Quib's eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers. Three bows men emerged from behind his circle of men and aimed their arrows towards her pirate companion. "If you cause me grief, I will cause you grief in return. Lower your weapons and allow yourself to be tied up, or I kill the whore."

Isabela frowned, spitting in the direction of the bowmen. "Hawke, don't."

Marian gazed over Isabela's form before returning her sights on Quib. "Shoot her and I'll slit your throat open before you even have the chance to scream."

The Mercenary grinned, raising a hand to squeeze the area between his eyes and inhale softly. "Very well," he said, turning away. "Silly girl." Quib waved his hand and a small opening in the circle formed. "Kill the pirate whore," he said, walking away. "And bring me The Champion in chains. Come, Lily."

Isabela removed both of her lengthy daggers and kicked at the iron door viciously; sweat forming on her forehead and chest as her thigh flexed and stretched repeatedly. The welding job that Lily had done was poor, but solid-enough. If time permitted it, Isabela thought she might just have the strength to kick it open it.

Hawke quickly reached for the dagger in her boot, flinging it crazily at the first archer who dared aim at Isabela. Its pointed steel landed in his eye-socket with deadly precision, his howl of agony sending the men surrounding Hawke into attack-mode.

"Hawke!" Isabela watched as her best mate became engulfed in a small sea of men, armor, and weapons. Her heart thumped wildly at the thought of harm coming to the warrior and she kicked again, harder and harder each time until the cracking sound of failing iron began to chime. Arrows bounced off the bars of her cage or flew by and Isabela thanked whatever demented Maker that was actually watching over a person like herself. "Bloody ball-sack of doom," she cried, her foot growing numb from its collision with solid iron.

The tip of someone's sword managed to finally cut into Marian's thigh and she screamed, wincing before hastily turning around to plunge her agile weapon deep into her intruder's chest. Isabela, prompted by the sound of Hawke's pain, released one, final kick, watching the melded iron patch finally snapped in half. Upon exiting her prison the pirate's eyes narrowed as she made her way towards the mass of men and women attacking Marian. Lithe fingers wrapped themselves around the collection of throwing knives that were held at Isabela's thigh, and within seconds each had entered the back of an enemy neck, either severing the cord or ruining the pipe. Isabela didn't care which happened.

Graceful twists, dives, kicks, and turns were all of what most men saw of Isabela before having a dagger dug deep into their innards. It was only when an arrow landed but inches from Isabela's foot did the Duelist stop moving. Honey colored orbs looked down to the arrow than up to the woman who launched it. Her eyes narrowed. The archer growled and quickly retrieved another arrow as she watched her opponent begin to close the gap at an alarming speed. Two quick arrows in succession had missed. Isabela's lip curled and she twisted a dagger in her hand, ready for making a fatal blow. But as her arm lifted to make the strike, Hawke screamed. Isabela snapped her head towards the direction, quickly changing the course of her attack as well.

Blood was sprayed everywhere as the Duelist cleared a small path towards Hawke at an agonizingly slow pace. The warrior had amassed a moderately sized pool of bodies around her, but seemed to sustained noticeable wounds to her arms, legs, face, and back. "Isabela," Hawke screamed, using her shield to bash away an opponent before turning to lunge her sword into another. Thank the Maker that her sultry friend was okay.

Isabela's daggers aided the warrior, but when the sudden cry of pain once more left Marian's lips, Isabela watched as the warrior fell to the floor, blood spraying from the back of her knee. A mercenary swung his foot at her back and the warrior fell forward with a hard thud.

"HAWKE!"

Hawke's fingers dug into the mud below her and she lifted herself onto all fours, turning her head to watch as Isabela ran towards her, daggers ready to make a kill. "Isabela," she cried out, "DON'T!"

Isabela gasped, stumbling forward until she sloppily fell to her knees mere feet from her old friend. She looked down at her chest, a shaky finger feeling the tip of the arrow that lodged itself inside of her. "Oh," she whispered, eyebrows furrowing as she looked up to stare into green eyes. "Well…shit."

Marian panted, dragging herself towards Isabela, watching as the woman slumped over onto her side. "Isabela," she cried, reaching out to grasp the woman's face. "Hey," Marian began softly. "Hey, look at me. Sweetness, Isabela, look at me…" Isabela's chest elevated and flattened slowly but no words left the pirate's mouth.

One of the mercenaries lifted his hand and waved towards a tunnel, signing for someone to go fetch the boss.

"Isabela? Love?" Marian could feel her eyes grow hot and wet. Thick, iron chains clanked noisily against each other as someone lifted Marion into a kneeling position. The warrior lashed out, screaming and growling and causing more men to help in restraining her.

"What a shame," Quib suddenly chimed, looking around at the small massacre that happened. "Prepare the ship and wrap up her leg. Throw her below deck. We're setting sail towards Kirkwall tonight."

"And the other woman?"

"…throw her back on her brig and burn it down. Kill any crewmen that try to oppose you."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always loved. Let me know what you think! Thanks!_


	12. Captain my Captain

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 12: Captain my Captain

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Below deck it smelt of wet wood, spoiled rations, vomit, and sweat. Hawke was sitting down, her back pressed against a large post with her hands tied around its girth. Her head, still so full of Isabela falling, hung limply forward. Lily nudged the warrior's leg with her foot, showing no regard for the terrible welts and scabs that had formed from the shackles around Marian's ankles. Marian didn't seem to care either.

"Food," the apostate said coldly, tossing a plate of hard bread and moldy cheese at the chained woman, its contents mostly spilling around the dirty wooden floor. "Eat."

Hawke remained still, her head swaying side to side with the rough motion of the boat.

"Eat," the apostate said again, kneeling down to face her at eye level. "You haven't done so in two days." Lily's eyes narrowed when she was greeted with more silence. Thin fingers wrapped around Hawke's chin and lifted it up so that their eyes could meet. Without much effort Lily managed to part Hawke's lips, forcing dirty bread into the woman's mouth. "_Eat," _she said again, stressing the word in anger. "What is it," Lily continued, "are you still sad about your friend? What was her name? Isabela?"

Hawke's eyebrows furrowed then, her lip curling when she spit out the contents in her mouth onto the apostates cheek. "You don't deserve the say her name," the warrior said lowly.

Lily wiped her face in disgust, belting in anger before backhanding the tied woman. "You're lucky you're needed alive. _Irial_," she spat, snapping her fingers harshly, "clean this damned mess up. And get the whore to eat; if she gets sickly, Quib will have my skull. See it done by the time I return."

"Aye," came the shy voice of a young woman emerging from some unknown dark place. She bowed deeply as Lily walked passed her, only standing straight when the apostate was out of sight.

Irial was of average height and almost too thin. But still, she was pretty in the face what with her dark hair and light blue eyes. She was quiet when taking her seat by Hawke, deciding it best to just quickly pick up the mess that was made just moments ago. "I'm Irial. And you shouldn't anger her," she said softly. "She can do awful things when she's angry." Irial extended her arms to show the deep burn scars. Hawke had a feeling those weren't the only scars Lily had given the slave girl.

"Here," the young woman persisted, lifting small pieces of bread to Hawke's lips. "The bread isn't so bad if you peel away the outer parts and eat the inside. It's usually still soft and not as stale. The same goes for the cheese."

Hawke moved her head away weakly and slightly turned her cheek so that her mouth was no where near the offered bits of food. "I'm not hungry."

"You've not eaten in a while…"

"—because I've not the desire to eat, girl. Leave me be."

"Please," Irial spoke delicately, eyes turning down. "If not for hunger then please eat for me. Lily is not kind when her demands are not met. When you grow weaker she'll know that I was unable to give you your strength…"

Hawke could feel her forehead crease when she furrowed her brows, cheek still turned away from the plate and girl. Without a word her lips separated. There was no desire for food, but the elder Hawke couldn't bring herself to have another person hurt on her account. Not right now.

"Thank you," Irial whispered, slowly placing in a soft, clean bit of bread and cheese. Hawke chewed as if the very act pained her and Irial bowed her head. She placed in another good sized chunk before watching Hawke swallow and turn her cheek. Irial, somewhat satisfied with what was consumed, took to putting the wooden plate down and picking up a few clean cloths and vial from her small side-pack instead.

"Let me see those," she said tenderly, examining the reddened wounds around Hawke's ankles.

"I'm fine," Hawke managed. "They're just irritated."

"They'll be infected soon enough. We'll need to remove these shackles," she refuted, producing a small key.

Hawke's eyes widened, turning her full attention to the young slave woman at her feet. "…you've a key…"

"Aye," Irial replied. "I'm in charge of cleaning every room and attending to every sick sailor. I need to be able to do my duties correctly lest I get beat…or worse." Slowly she unshackled Hawke's right ankle, peeling the metal from the flesh and calming the warrior when she hissed in pain. Irial doused a small, clean cloth with the smelly ointment she carried in her vial and wrapped it around the broken skin.

"They let you have a key to their doors and the ships shackles?" Hawke stared at the thin woman, wincing as she worked. "Irial…"

"I didn't always have the key," Irial admitted. "The boss and Lily got very tired of me always asking to be let into which ever room or area I needed to be in. Eventually, Quib just gave me Lily's keys. They said I…interrupteda lot of 'business' between them."

"How long have you been here with them?"

"Ten years," Irial said softly. "I've never been allowed to leave the ship."

Hawke shook her head, "You've not left the ship in ten years? How old are you?"

"Twenty-two, I think." Irial paused, using her fingers to aid in counting silently. "Twenty-one. I'm twenty-one. My father was an apothecary in Ferelden, and when he died my mother sold me. I was the eldest of four. Our family needed the coin and…anyways," she sighed, placing the shackles back on Hawke, sure that they didn't disturb the ointment slathered cloth beneath them, "this should do nicely. It'll help with the pain and cease any itching you may have around your scabs. I need to go and tend to another, but I will come back to check on you before night falls."

"Wait," Hawke asked, her eyes softening as she looked onto the young slave. "Irial, you have—"

"_She has what?"_ Lily sauntered down the steps leading to the lower deck with grace, slightly lifting her new robe so that the floor would not ruin its bottom fabric. "What does she have, Champion?"

Hawke closed her eyes and leaned her head back to rest it against the large, wooden pillar. "…helped me. She was very kind in tending to my wounds."

Lily eyed the warrior briefly, taking notice that her ankles were now covered in medicated cloth. The smell always made her lip curl in distaste. "Good, Irial. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, Messere."

"Champion," the apostate said sweetly and suggestively, raising Hawke's chin so that their eyes could meet for the second time. "Quib can be slow, sometimes. But _I_, on the other hand, am anything but. If you so much as even suggest that Irial open your shackles and release you…I'll have the keys removed from her lifeless corpse. Do you know that pretty sword of yours?" Lily leaned in so that her warm breath danced on Hawke's neck, "I'll use it to open her from mouth to cunt." The apostate placed a gentle kiss under Hawke's ear. "You'll only have this one warning. I suggest you heed it," she whispered, pulling away with a soft chuckle.

Hawke said nothing as the woman turned to go, her jaw clamped shut with the force of steel gates. But when Lily left, Hawke couldn't help but grin, two small hairpins revealing themselves on her own plush lips.

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

"_Fetch Bodok, I think she's coming around…"_

Isabela awoke with a start. Pain was still very much prevalent and wasn't shy about making itself known. The woman groaned, slowly forcing herself into consciousness. Isabela felt the soft sheets beneath her hands and could catch the faint smell of Hawke's hair on her pillow. She instantly knew she was aboard her brig and in her Captain's quarters. Slowly, she strained herself into a sitting position, hissing and touching her chest with light, delicate fingers. Her entire upper chest was wrapped with heavy bandages. It took her a moment to focus her eyesight, but Isabela raised a brow when she noticed her lack of tunic, pants, and boots. She wiggled her toes.

"How are you feeling?"

It had taken a short moment to register, but she knew that voice. And for reasons that went beyond her well being, something within her snapped. Isabela turned towards the voice with near-instant rage, ignoring her pain and lifting her seemingly heavy body out of bed. She grabbed one of her nearby daggers and then proceeded to wrap the owner of the question by the neck, dragging them harshly out of her Cabin and into the light of the very bright sun. Isabela screamed, her grasp on their neck tightening as she leaned them against the railing, threatening to toss them over into the raging sea below.

"Where is she," Isabela spat, the tip of her dagger pressing firmly into the young man's skin, threatening to do more than simply draw dribbles of blood. "Where is Hawke!"

Flynn gasped and winced, his still weak body too useless to properly fight back. He returned her steely gaze with one of hatred. "Do it. Just bloody _do it._ I should have known better. You're no damned different than _they_ were."

Isabela's lip curled and she pushed him just a bit farther back, watching his panic stricken eyes peer at the dark blue depths below before falling back onto her.

"Stop!" Merrick came running out from below deck, Bodok close behind him. "Don't hurt my bro—"

Isabela shot the young boy icicles with her eyes, removing her dagger from Flynn's stomach and using it to throw at Merrick, making sure that it landed merely inches from his little foot. "Keep your distance, _brat_," she snarled. Merrick stopped instantly, looking from the woman down to the dagger as his feet. Bodok removed the weapon from the floor board and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let them be, lad. For your own good."

Flynn grew angry and pushed back much to his distain. Even wounded Isabela, hopped up on adrenaline, rage, and anguish, proved to be too much for the young man. Her calloused grasp on him was that of a seasoned killer and heart-broken lover.

"Where is Hawke?!"

"On her way to K-Kirkwall, I suspect." Flynn clung to the madwoman's wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's the tru—"

"LIAR," Isabela screamed, tightening the grasp around his neck to the point she thought her fingers would snap and Flynn would pass-out.

"It's the truth." Bodok stepped forward, extending his rough hand to place gently on her shoulder. "Cap'n," be began softly, "these little blighters saved yer life…"

Isabela bared her teeth. "At what cost?"

"Cap'n," Bodok spoke, softer this time. "We're already in route to Kirkwall. We'll get er' back…"

"_At what cost_," Isabela asked again, leaning into Flynn. "_Answer_!"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, eyes threatening to roll back into his head. "We tried t…to make it…right agai—"

Isabela tried her damndest to relinquish her grip, to let the fool drop to his watery grave and hope that the brig tore his floating body in half. But her hands began to tremble, her grasp losing its rage as she thought of her green eyed companion. "You're lucky," she whispered, throwing the boy onto the wooden deck by this throat. Merrick ran to him as Flynn gasped for air. "You're nothing but a boy. Hawke wouldn't have…Hawke wouldn't have wanted…" She leaned onto the rail, face turned from prying eyes. Tanned shoulders began to quake, only stopping when she took a moment to breathe. "…the moment we dock I want you to get as far away from me as you can…for _both _of your sakes."

"You two sods better shove off," Bodok said quietly, pushing both boys away from Isabela. He toddled over to his captain, placing his coarse elbows on the rail and leaning in, always being sure to keep his eyes out on the sea and not Isabela's pained face.

"_Yer'_ brig is the fastest on the sea, Cap'n…_their_ ship might as well be made o' stone. We'll be in Kirkwall before ye know it. We may even reach em' before Kirkwall, or at least beat em to it."

Isabela cleared her throat in her best attempt regain command, her light eyes scanning the sea in the direction of Kirkwall. "I'm counting on it. Full mast, Bodok. Throw over all excess rations and cargo. We won't need it where we're going. And make it quick."

"Ye heard the Cap'n," Bodok screamed, deep and gravely. Even though they had just fully restocked, the dwarven Quartermaster knew where his Captain needed to be. And wherever Isabela needed to be is where Bodok needed to be as well. "Stations, the lot of ye! Full mast and stay course! Extra weight goes over, no exceptions!"

One of Isabela's sailors walked over, rolling a large cask of whiskey. "What about this, Captain?"

Isabela eyed the batch with hungry eyes before looking away and leaning on the rail once more. Whiskey was sort of an anti-depressant for Isabela; the problem, however, was that even though it showed her calmness and even sometimes clarity _within herself_, her _outward_ actions were often the exact opposite. "Toss it over, all of them. We'll all need our wits for what's ahead."

He contemplated her briefly. "Are you alright, Captain?"

"Honestly," Isabela replied with a huff, cupping her large breasts to ease the load off of her incredibly sore chest. "My tits are killing me!"

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

Night had fallen onto the trading vessel and majority of the ship had fallen silent to sleep or rum. Irial was sitting with Hawke, having taken up conversation after changing her bandages.

"Do you know where they're taking you?"

"Kirkwall."

"Do you know what for?"

Thousands of reasons popped into Hawke's mind. A small, indifferent smile, grimace-like more than anything else appeared on her lips. "Templars, Mages, A family with a large grudge, an ex-lover, Fereldens, Orlesians, the juries…the list, honestly, is endless."

"You think they'll place you in the courts? For what? Do they seek to find justice?"

Hawke scoffed. "The courts hold no justice, Irial. They don't seek to do right nor make peace. They write their own forms of freedom and law and spoon-feed them to the masses because they are too scared to eat anything else. They use they're false words and shallow messages of hope to invade homes and control lives; staring down from their very high places with their very low standards of decency to all beings." Hawke laughed a soft, remorseful sound. "They promise that if you paint your morality with their colors that they'll make absolute sure that justice will be served honestly, fairly, and truthfully. It's all shit," Hawke continued, letting her head hang a bit. "Justice was never the business of the courts. Their business was and always has been order. I, unfortunately, was the unknowing helping hand in an act that set off many ripples of _disorder_. Thus, here I am. So if it's the courts that I am heading for, then I can honestly say to you, my dear, that I am royally and utterly _screwed. _They might as well hang me here."

Irial curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her slender arms around them, watching Marian with a curious expression. "I've never met anyone like you."

"Consider yourself lucky and then pray you never meet anyone like me again."

Irial placed her chin on her knees and smiled sadly. She was missing teeth. "Every morning I wake up with the sun and try to see myself as new again. I do my chores, feed the men, bathe Lily and make her breakfast, then tend to the cargo and cleaning. I try to do it happily. Life is what you make it. But I'm not stupid. Every day here is another day of dying a very slow and very painful death. Yet no matter how many days pass, I just never seem to actually do it. I always wake up. And it's come to a point where I can't tell what's worse to me: the idea of living or the idea of not dying. But you? You stand for something, even if it's something only you can see or understand. So I do consider myself lucky, and I hope to meet someone like you every day."

"Irial," Hawke said softly, choosing her words very carefully. "Do you know where my weapons and boots are?"

Soft blue eyes looked at her curiously. "They're in the Captain's Cabin. Why?"

"Come close to me. I have to tell you something, and I want you to know that what I'm about to say I mean with all my heart."

"What is it," Irial asked, moving closer so that her ear was nearly against Hawke's mouth.

"I like you," Hawke whispered affectionately. "And I need you to forgive me because there are things that I need to do."

"What do y—" Irial's head snapped back when Hawke butted her head against the servant's nose, watching as she fell backwards into a limp pile. Three clicks was all it took for Hawke to release her wrists from their iron bindings, and she hissed when the heavy shackles fell off. Once her hands were free it was only minutes until her feet followed. It took several minutes for her to be able to stand up properly, not realizing how painful it would be when pressure was finally added onto her feet, bad knee, and hips again after so many hours of sitting still.

Gentle arms reached underneath the thin, young woman and placed her where no one would see or harm her, hidden behind barrels and old cargo, safe in the shadows of the lower deck. Hawke was tender, kindly wiping away the small traces of blood around Irial's nose and upper lip. The young woman was so frail that the keys on her body protruded so obviously through her thin, ragged dress, and Hawke had no difficulty in acquiring them from her.

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

Stinky and dark: this was the only way Hawke could describe the lower deck of this vessel. There were a few, small torches placed irregularly among the pillars, but even they failed in providing anything remotely close to necessary. Squinting did not help so Hawke moved through the area slowly, careful to avoid any rooms with what she thought were bunks. Instead she opted for the kitchen, listening vigilantly for anyone who might have been disobeying orders and eating rations late at night. Thankfully, there were none.

Every tool that had a sharpened blade on it was packed into a recently emptied leather satchel that reeked of old onions. Only when she felt sufficient-enough in self-defense did Hawke return to the main stairwell and quietly begin her ascent. She stopped at the last few steps and hunched over before peeking her head forward to scout for active bodies: there was only one – the night watchman. Near the main mast the sole sailor sang to himself, swinging an almost empty bottle of rum and laughing at only Maker knew what.

Marian sighed and approached him casually, extending her hand with an honest smile. "Can I have a swig, mate?"

Confused ye curious eyes wandered up and down the blonde, a lecherous grin soon spreading across dry, cracked lips. He handed her the bottle.

"Thanks," Marian nodded, grabbing the bottle by its neck before smashing it against his temple.

The unkempt body fell to her feet and she exhaled, closing her eyes as she stood on what suddenly felt like a lonely, empty brig. Warm sea breezes surrounded her body and Hawke licked at the salt that had already formed on her lips. Her eyes wandered to the ships helm, imagining a tall, curvy, tanned woman manning it, calling out orders and receiving military like responses in return. Hawke swallowed the hard ball that had formed in her throat, closing her eyes when the image of an arrow sticking through Isabela's chest echoed in her mind again, again, and again, watching as the light in her honey colored eyes began to fade before she even hit the ground.

Waves crashing harshly against the vessel and light, cold splashes of sea-water against her skin snapped Hawke out of it. When her eyes searched back to the ship's helm the image of her friend was no more. Isabela was gone and Hawke turned away, now facing the large door that led into the Captain's cabin with renewed purpose: Vengence.

A small blade twisted comfortably in her hand as the other used the key to unlock the door with a small _click. _It swayed open, revealing a large room that was dimly lit by candles. The pops of flesh slapping against flesh and whorish moans, accentuated with soft, submissive promises filled the air. Quib and Lily had their backs to their bedroom door and Hawke watched silently as he grabbed her hips and snarled, bucking into the bent apostate with fervor. Lily flexed her toes and placed her chest on the bed-sheets, giving her lover more accesses to her entry when her backside was lifted higher for him.

Hawke's face was expressionless and her eyes were vacant as she stared at Quib's flexing ass, watching him get closer and closer to his climax. Her steps were light and slow and when Quib vocalized his closeness, head thrown back, mouth gaping open, and eyes sealed shut in anticipation, Hawke reached around his neck and slit his flesh open.

"I told you that I'd slice your throat if you shot her." These words fell off her lips like velvet and Lily screamed as blood sprayed her back and dripped down her shoulders and breasts. Quib gurgled and fell off his bed, hands desperately trying to press down on the gaping wound. He gasped, reminiscent of a fish out of water. Hawke looked upon him without pity before turning the same gaze towards the scrambling apostate.

The hardened warrior walked around to the side of the bed and grabbed Lily by her hair, pulling back harshly like a rider trying to make its steed come to an abrupt stop. Lily screamed, slapping at Hawke's body when the she flipped her over and pressed her flat into the bed. Calloused fingers wrapped around Lily's jaw and forced the naked woman to meet the eyes of her attacker, a small knife threatening to press into the woman's bladder.

"Tell me, you dumb git," Hawke began, her eyes crazed with loss more than anger, the image of Isabela filling her mind. "Do you know what happens to known apostates in Kirkwall?"

Lily's eyes widened and Hawke leaned in to mimic the apostate's earlier actions. "…they do far worse than _anything_ I could _ever_ do to you," she breathed out, making sure to kiss under the apostate's ear before moving back. "And thank you, by the way," Hawke added, "for the hair pins." A scream, more guttural than loud filled the room and Hawke used her fist to knock the woman unconscious, allowing her body to fall limply onto the floor without a care. Quib, now pale with blood-loss lay dead on the opposite side, his jaw slack and eyes turned upward.

Hawke released several grunts, grabbing Quib by his bloodied hands and wrists and dragging him out into the open where everyone would be able see his lifeless body. Lily, now tied naked and gagged to the center mast, was still unconscious with no signs of waking soon. Hawke exhaled, wiping her with brow the clean side of her hand. She stood near the ships wheel, staring at the large bell next to it. Hawke recalled Isabela once saying that the bell was only ever used for emergency, usually when the ship was being attacked or boarded by enemies.

This was close enough.

With her shield at her feet and her sword once again in hand, Hawke bashed the bell with its hilt several times, listening and watching as groggy yet alarmed sailors made their way towards the main deck, yelling in alarm and confusion only until they each discovered the lone woman standing above them and their dead leader laying at their feet, his apostate girlfriend tied naked and unconscious.

"I'm sure you all can tell who the dead man at your feet is. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who did it. This ship? It's mine now. So, I have a very simple question for each and every one of you." Hawke regarded each face quietly, her eyes portraying a newfound coldness, hands still stained with now-drying blood. "Does anyone have a _problem_ with that?"

Her question was met with silence.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who still reads this story. I thought it'd be nice to post for the new year, so here it is and I hope you enjoy it! Your comments, questions, and reviews are very loved. Thanks and Happy New Year!_


	13. Wanted

_A/N: Forgive any grammatical or spelling errors as I am the only one who proof reads the chapters._

* * *

Sharp Little Pinpricks

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Chapter 13: Wanted

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_It was another night at the Amell residence and Hawke had just ripped everything out of her and Bethany's wardrobe. "I look frumpy. Do you think I look frumpy? I feel frumpy."_

"_Frumpy good or frumpy bad?"_

"_There's a good kind of frumpy?"_

_Isabela shrugged, tilting her head to the side. "What about the blue one?"_

"_That belongs to Bethany. It would never fit me. Her boobs are just...you know." Hawke extended her arms as far as they would go, bouncing her hands up and down. "At this rate I'll never find a damned thing to wear."_

"_She's got tits like your mother, that girl." Isabela grinned, ruffling herself up as she thought of Leandra. Though the woman was much older, her womanly figure had remained quite attractive._

"_Are you going to actually help me? Or are you going to just talk about how attractive all my parents and siblings are?" Hawke's expression was soft but irritated._

"_Can I do both?"_

"_Isabela, he'll be here shortly…"_

"_There you go again. You're a fun-killer, killer of all things amusing and happy." It was a comment she made more often than not when speaking to Hawke. "But fine," she continued. "What about this one?" Isabela got up from her seat, walking over to the small pile of dresses and pulling out a red one. "If this one doesn't tell Anders to bend you over and shove it in, then I have no idea what will."_

_Hawke eyed the garment while taking off the one that made her look like a sad, wet llama. "The day that Anders bends me over will be the day that mages and templars get along. It's going to take more than a nice, red garb to do that."_

"_Wait," Isabela stared, not relinquishing her hold on the article of clothing when Hawke tugged at it. "He hasn't…? You two haven't…? And how long have you been together?"_

_Hawke shrugged, "He always seems to shy away when the moment arises. I don't want him to feel forced, so I try not to push it."_

"_It's small isn't it? Anders' little magic stick is small."_

"_Isabela." The pirate's one and only warning came in the simple form of her name. _

"_Sweet-thing," Isabela cooed, "we need to fix that problem."_

"_**We**__," Hawke emphasized, wiggling her finger betwixt the two of them, "don't need to fix anything. __**I**__," she stressed again, "will address the subject when it matters. Right now, I'm okay. We're okay. It's okay." Marian cleared her throat and snagged the red dress from the amused pirate. _

_Isabela grinned widely. "Were you trying to convince me or yourself?"_

"_Shut it," Hawke snickered, slipping into the little number with ease. Either Isabela knew Hawke's body too well, or Isabela knew Hawke's body too well: it hugged her in all the right places. "Besides," Hawke said quietly, a tender smile on her face as she slid her hands along her tummy and thighs to feel the soft fabric. "We've been planning this night for a while. It's actually quiet tonight; Aveline hasn't broken my door down screaming about heathens or fools. So, I guess you just never know..."_

"_Look at you," Isabela whispered, a grin still on her full lips. "Sweet-thing, I'd say that the red dress will do you just fine…"_

"_You think so?" Hawke inquired, delicate eyebrow arching when she turned to face her friend. "Does it honestly look good?"_

_Dresses were a rare occasion for the elder Hawke. Normally, if it wasn't armor it was a tunic, and if it wasn't a tunic then it was armor. Isabela stood in front the blonde holding a small, round container and took a moment to stare, drinking in the sight of the beautiful warrior. Hawke's long, blonde hair fell in soft tresses around her face, her green eyes seemingly more bright than usual. _

"_You look delicious, but…part your lips. The ones on your face." Isabela dabbed her pinky finger in the rouge-color crème. _

_Hawke looked onto Isabela fondly, trying not to giggle when doing what she was commanded, watching as the woman ran her finger along the soft, plump flesh of Hawke's lower lip, her brows furrowed hard in concentration. "There, you're ready as you'll ever be. But where is Ander—"_

_The sound of her large bedroom door cracking back against the wall made both women jump. "Where is it," Anders asked, his voice deep and harsh, eyes scanning the entire floor of their bedroom before his hands began to messily rummage through both his and Hawke's things._

"_Anders, what is it? What are you looking for, love?" Hawke looked onto him with a worried expression. He hadn't shaved nor even bathed yet and his attire wasn't exactly go-out ready._

"_I'm missing pages," Anders spoke through gritted teeth. "They're very …important pages… and I can't find them! My manifesto… I need to— honestly, what is all of this damned mess! Shouldn't you be, I don't know, playing with your sword or training or something? Not in here making our bedroom impossible? Hello, Isabela," he managed through a hard scowl. "I'm surprised to see you here and not up to your eyebrows in whiskey and ale."_

_Even though she tried to fight it, Isabela couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes as dramatically as possible. Anders had a terrible tendency to act out like a petulant child when it came to his precious Manifesto. Thus, Isabela figured out rather quickly that when Anders was in a bad mood it was best to just let him be. Otherwise, she would be there all night arguing with him._

"_It's not here. Maybe I placed them in another book. Hm," Anders sighed, eyes never landing on Hawke. Instead he turned to walk out the door. "Honestly, Hawke. Clean our room up, there's clutter everywhere and I know it's not mine."_

_Isabela folded her arms and frowned, her hip cocked with attitude. "That self-absorbed little shit."_

"_Isabela…"_

"_He didn't even—I mean, honestly? Andraste's saggy tits, look at you!"_

"_Isabela," Hawke tried again. "It's fine." Her fingers tips traced along the front of her thighs once more before she moved to open her dress. "He forgot. It's fine."_

"_No," Isabela said sternly, kneeling down in front of Hawke to stop her actions. For reasons that were beyond her current comprehension, Isabela refused to see Hawke so let-down. "You have spent too much time getting ready to have you just be laying there like a flaccid wanker all night. We, sweet-thing, are going to show you off, because if Anders won't—"_

"_Hey," the warrior said softly, a halfhearted grin on her lips, "I'm okay." Hawke reached out to cup Isabela's cheeks. "You were wonderful tonight for helping me with this."_

"_I wish you'd be telling me that for a much naughtier reason…"_

_Hawke shook her head with a playful expression, leaning in to ever-so-softly plant a small kiss on Isabela's cheek before retreating. "You're horrible and I love it. But honestly, thank you for coming to help me...Captain." The word fell off of Hawke's lips like sex and the sensation of hearing it caused the pirate to shiver delightfully. Hawke was such a damned tease. It's partly why Isabela got along so well with the wicked woman._

_A harsh puff of air fell from Isabela's lips. Pretending to ignore the knots in her stomach and how warm her face suddenly felt was proving to be difficult. "Suit yourself, I'll be at the Hanged Man."_

"_Honestly," Hawke pushed, a teasing finger gently poking into the pirate's rib, "who knew you were such a softy when it came to your friends! The great pirate queen Isabela, all mushy and gooey on the inside!"_

"_Leaving now."_

"_I bet you even like to cuddle after a good humping!"_

_Isabela cackled, amused eyes looking Hawke up and down. "What with Anders acting like a menopausal woman suffering from heat-flashes all day long, __**I bet you'd like to find out**__! Tell me, Hawke, do the old hinges creak when you spread your legs? Maker knows they haven't been oiled up in a while…"_

"_What if I do?"_

_Isabela squinted at the warrior. "What if you do…what?"_

_Hawke stood up, the undone dress falling freely off her body and pooling around her feet. "What if I want to find out if you cuddle after a… good humping?" For the first time, this was a fight that Hawke was clearly going to win. The lack of response and sheer look of frustration on Isabela's face said it all._

"_Remind me to stab you with a spoon. In your sleep. Through the nipple," Isabela finally grumbled, turning around to stiffly walk away._

_Hawke grinned wickedly, the tip of her tongue poking out to wet her lips. "G'bye, lovie. Oh, and say hello to Varric for me?"_

Isabela rubbed her eyes in attempt to free herself of the memory. A fine sheet of sweat coated her forehead. Merrick was playing outside, smiling widely when a sailor showed him a trick with coins; Isabela could see him beyond the window from her quarters. It seemed juvenile to have such hatred towards a boy; he was a boy, after all, yet every time her eyes fell on him or his older brother a new reason for wanting them gone began to form. Taking to concentrating on readying herself for Hawke's rescue seemed to help, though only a bit. She counted coin with zeal, a small dimple forming over her right brow when it furrowed in attentiveness. Every inch of her body ached. It had become nearly impossible for the Rivaini to rest. Her nights were filled with terrors, worries, and agitation. Healing salves were helping her physical wound, but nothing was helping the greater wound that lay beneath her breast plate.

Isabela loved Hawke. The pirate queen had known the dirty, little fact for some time now. She would have liked to think that it was when Hawke fell limp into her arms on the shore, pale and wet with salt-water, or when tears spilled from the depths of her loss had fallen from her eyes – an act considered myth to the many that knew the pirate's name. Yet, much to her chagrin, Isabela knew she had loved Marian many years before that, when their problems consisted of lacking the funding for expeditions, not destroying the chantry and waging wars.

It was an issue that, though the pros (sex) of being involved with one such as Hawke would outweigh the cons (when not having sex), Isabela felt no need to press. She was not a woman that needed titles or symbolic jewelry; as long as the blonde warrior, charming in all her flaws, was near her, Isabela was pleased. This feeling towards Hawke was always and easily the most terrifying for the pirate: not the '_I'm in love'_ bit, but rather the '_I don't care if I don't get gold, I just want you to be okay'_ bit. Honestly, it was a strange and unwelcomed feeling, but it was the feeling that Isabela wouldn't have given up for all the booze and plunder in Thedas. And that's exactly how she knew it was love she felt.

A creak from rusted hinges rang into the air.

"—_H-Hey—_I just wanted to say I'm sorry." Flynn stood at the cabin's entry way for several moments, too scared to cross the threshold and too nervous to move an inch. "We both are. It was an honest mistake, albeit a very large and very bad one." Thumbs twiddled and his posture seemed nervous, switching its weight from one foot to the other. In his hands was a small, leather bag. "Also, I wanted to bring you this. Merrick crushed the herbs and made the salve himself. It's good. It'll help." Flynn extended his hand carefully, not daring to enter a single foot into Isabela's quarters.

Isabela clenched her jaws together and closed her eyes, losing count of the current coin pile she had been working on. "Do you know what your bloody problem is, boy?" Wisely, her question had been met with stillness. "You need to pick a damned side and stick to it. I don't know what dries my lady bits more: a man who constantly betrays his group, or a man that doesn't know what he stands for. I may be a pirate, a whore, a bitch, and I might have even screwed up more times than I can count – but I have _always_ known what I believe in, and in the end I have always stood by those who have stood by me. Now leave the salve at the door and go."

"…if I had stayed with them… you would have died. I picked my side. My brother and I are only sad that we picked it too late," Flynn spoke softly, eyes landing on the woman for only a moment. The gentle clicking of a lock let Isabela know that the boy had left. She whimpered a bit, scowling when she began to gently remove her bandages. A small glob of the yellow-ish ointment adorned her finger tips and Isabela leaned forward, her arm reaching around to slather the reddened wound. Once she repeated the process on her chest, Isabela hissed and gripped the edge of her bed. It was a burning feeling that bordered on excruciating, almost as if someone where sticking hot pokers into each of her wounds simultaneously.

Laying her head back into her pillow allowed the fading scent of Hawke to fill her nose. The entirety of her body was coated in sweat and her throbbing head equaled to that of her wounds, but the fragrance was a small comfort with a large impact, slowly granting her access to much needed slumber, however long it would last.

_Soon._

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

"The bastard and bitch had _this_ much coin aboard this ship and he fed his crewman spoiling rations?" Hawke looked out the window towards Lily's tied body with narrowed eyes.

Irial nodded, continuing in her efforts to help Hawke search through Quib's old quarters. "Besides this little chest of papers, a few gems, and all that coin… there isn't much here, or at least I don't think there is." Irial winced after talking, reaching up to gently touch her nose. When Hawke reached over touched the young woman's shoulder apologetically, Irial shook her head. "It's okay. I understand that you were only trying to protect me. Had your plan gone wrong they would have thought that I had released you from your shackles. Is that right?"

"Right," Hawke said softly, reaching over instead to take the small chest. "Now, let's see what we have here…"

"What is it," Irial asked curiously, peeking over the woman's shoulder as Hawke sat down at the desk.

"Here's a list of stock. Hold on to it for me, will you?" Hawke folded and handed the paper to Irial. "The rest is…old letters…a few maps…what's this?" The long piece of parchment unrolled easily in her hands and Hawke read it carefully. _"…for being successful in several of our past arrangements, you, Paul Q. Henley, among other select few men and women have been granted the opportunity to serve Thedas in exchange for a reward of three-thousand sovereign per unharmed individual. The acquisition and return of the listed individuals below to the office of the Viscount in Kirkwall must be fulfilled to receive aforementioned reward: Aedan Cousland of Ferelden, Marian Hawke of Lothering, and…"_

"And who," Irial asked, leaning in to see. "Oh, there's a small description and sketching of all of you at the bottom…"

Hawke wrinkled her nose and brought the parchment closer to her face. It was no use. "I can't read the last name; the ink is too blotted."

"The amount they're paying is a fortune. You're a wanted woman," Irial said, her eyebrows lifting in wonder. "It said there were others besides Quib who were charged for your return… what are you going to do? We're only a day or two from Kirkwall and that's where they were supposed to take you!"

"Well, there's no use in changing good plans," Hawke replied coolly.

"H…Hawke?"

"We're going to Kirkwall. But we'll do it on my terms. Someone is looking for me, obviously. They asked to have me returned unharmed. And honestly," Hawke said before a long exhale, "I don't feel like running. Not anymore."

"What did you do, exactly? When we spoke of this last you said you made 'ripples of disorder'. What does that mean," Irial asked nervously.

"…I unknowingly helped someone do something very bad. It has killed and may be still killing lot of people. It has ruined a lot of lives."

Thin fingers twined with each other as thumbs twiddled uncertainly. "Do you think the Viscount will listen when you arrive at the docks?"

Marian picked up a nearby dagger and twisted it in her hands. "I don't know. In all conscience, I was fairly sure that if I were to ever show myself there again, the only thing he or she would want to listen to is the creaking of the gallows as I hang. But, I've been wrong before. All I know is that it doesn't matter if it was an accident. Maybe all that has happened was a sign from the Maker himself. Maybe I need to answer to what I have helped do."

"So…you're going to enter Kirkwall on your own terms? How?"

"Well," the warrior said, lifting the dagger to her hair. "Because I'm not returning the way anyone might remember me. I am taking a very small but simple safety precaution." Irial watched as Hawke slowly hacked her hair into a short, boyish style, her blonde curls falling onto the floor.

"Your hair!"

Hawke half-smiled sadly, remembering a time when she tried to wiggle away from her mother who tried so hard to get those now cut-off curls to look decent. "It's only hair," she spoke aloud, perhaps a reminder more for herself than the woman next to her. "Now tell me, Irial, have you ever changed a woman's hair color?"

"No," Irial said, watching as Hawke continued to cut.

"You'll need a small satchel of black walnuts crushed into a fine powder, a cheese-cloth, warm water, and a dark tea for rinsing. Can you see to it while I try to finish this?"

"Of course."

Long, loose curl after long, loose curl fell to the ground in silence. Hawke stared at the floor, once bright eyes outwardly more dull than usual. She could hear Isabela in her mind; see her leaning against the cabin's wall and arching a brow unapprovingly.

"_You've cut your hair", _Hawke could hear, "_It looks horrible"._

"My hair grows quickly. It'll come back soon."

"_You look like a pretty man."_

"Then it could be worse, I suppose. I could look like an _ugly_ man."

Irial stood still at the door and blinked. "You don't look like a man at all. I think the shorter hair makes you look… distinguished."

Hawke shook her head with a small laugh. "Thank you, Irial. Have you got what I asked for?"

"I got them, but I don't know how fresh the walnuts are. They're getting soft, I think."

"It is fine," Hawke assured, taking the walnuts and placing them in a mortar. She crushed them softly as Irial began to warm the water.

"So…" Irial watched Hawke with curious eyes, sure to keep her tone easygoing. "Were you speaking with someone just now?"

"Myself, mostly."

"You just looked so…different."

Hawke shook her head again. "I'm okay. I just miss a friend very much."

"Is that who you were speaking with?" Irial looked over to Hawke. "I talk to one of my sisters all the time even though she's not here. What is your friend's name? The one you miss?"

"Isa—" The word carried more weight and impact than expected, and the result came in the form of a choke. Hawke only took a second to compose herself, but the crease across her forehead made it known that her state was visibly worse than before. "Excuse me," Hawke said, clearing her throat nonchalantly.

Irial knew that kind of grief all too well. "…when did your friend pass to the Maker's side?"

Hawke couldn't help but let out a sad yet genuinely loud laugh, and the sound pleased Irial. "If the Maker had the balls to take her I don't think he'd know what to do with her or himself. I picture him constantly wagging his finger at her while she chases Andraste around in hopes for a good lay. Curiosity for Isa—" Hawke exhaled then slowly took a breath. "Curiosity for _Isabela_ was a character flaw. But it was the flaw I enjoyed most. It was a flaw we shared. It got us into trouble more often than not, but still…I adored it."

Irial smiled at the aforementioned scenario. "It sounds like you loved her very much."

"I love her still," Hawke said, allowing the words to fall free from her lips. "I think I always have. We were both absolutely terrible and terribly amazing together. But that's enough of this talk," Hawke said sternly and abruptly, finishing with crushing the walnuts. "Is the water ready?"

"It is," Irial said quietly. "This is such a small amount though. Don't you need more water than this?"

"No, it'll be more concentrated this way. When I dunk my hair in just sprinkle the contents of this around; the water will thicken so be sure to try and cover as much area as you can while it's warm."

Both women sat in silence as Irial worked gently on Hawke's shorter hair and scalp. Blonde soon turned to black, and when the thick-substance finally cooled Irial took the pitcher of dark tea and rinsed Hawke's hair.

"All done," Irial spoke, watching as the woman sat up. It seemed a silly idea, but Hawke actually looked like a whole new person. The darker hair accentuated her light skin and somehow made her eyes brighter. Her facial structure seemed more prominent. Irial noticed the high cheekbones, thinned face, and elegant jaw more so than usual.

"So," Hawke asked. "How is it?"

"Different," Irial said honestly. "You look completely different."

"Good. Then I am ready for what Kirkwall has in store for me..."

* * *

_A/N: So I've graduated with my Master's Degree. Yay for that! Anyways, I'm going to be bleeding this story into Dragon Age: Inquisition in a hopefully good way – so keep an eye out. Thanks to all who still follow, read, comment, and PM me!_


	14. The City of Chains

_A/N: Please excuse and grammatical or spelling errors that you encounter as I am the only one who proof reads after writing._

* * *

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 14: The City of Chains

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.

.

It wasn't what Hawke had been expecting. Almost two years at sea, only stopping at the occasional small island for supplies, had left the woman warrior with little news of either Ferelden or the Free Marches. The ocean and Isabela had become Hawke's home, and any thought of returning to this city had been pushed to the far reaches of her mind. When Hawke left Kirkwall she left the city in near-ruin. Streets were littered with rubble, ash, and bodies of both the dead and mourning. Kirkwall had fallen to magic the day Isabela stole her away to safety, and neither of them ever looked back. Until now.

Hawke reminded herself to breathe as her ship docked outside the gallows. The sky around Kirkwall was dark, and it was eerie to hear almost nothing besides the splashing of water against wood and stone.

"So this is the City of Chains," Irial said quietly, gazing at the gigantic, oppressing walls of the city. "It's…"

"…just like I left it." Hawke looked up to the dark sky when she felt the sharp, cold pricks of water droplets. "Rain," she said softly, extending her hand out, "how appropriate. Come Irial, let's gather our things."

"_Pardon, but who is the Captain of this ship_?" He was a tall, young man, most likely a Templar though he did not wear the armor. It was his sword that gave it away, what with its hilt branded with their symbol. If one weren't paying attention it would have been a detail that could easily be missed.

"It depends on who is asking, friend."

"The Viscount is asking. This is just a routine check, serah. How many do you have aboard this vessel? Line them up on deck, please."

"It's curious," Hawke spoke, not breaking eye contact with him. "Why would a Templar be doing the duties of the guard on behalf of the Viscount?"

The Templar's posture visibly stiffened, his eyes glancing back and forth from Hawke, to Irial, to most of the ship's crew. "What makes you think I'm a Templar?"

"No need to give us the shifty eyes," Hawke said casually. "I am not here for trouble, just for business. I simply find it curious that a Templar out of his armor would be doing the work of a guard."

"Thank the Maker," the young Templar breathed out, relieved to hear Hawke's response. "I thought we were going to have an incident here. It's only my first month at this station. Please, I am only doing what the Viscount has asked of both the guard and the Templars. He has the orders, so he is in charge, and he is desperately trying to keep this city under control."

"In charge? What has he asked of you?"

"You must have been at sea for a long time, serah. Thedas is practically in an uproar. Kirkwall is one of the cities where it is worse. Because the Templars have separated from the Chantry and are now autonomous, we and the Mages are constantly at each others throats—night and day with no respite. The Viscounts guards are only just able to maintain a thin line of civility in the city, but more often than not they get added to the list of causalities in service. I, along with a few others, am here at the docks to see that no more mages sneak through our walls to strengthen the resistance. Any mage that crosses us gets taken to the gallows. Because of the dangers that the mage-revolution pose, unless we are working in the inner city, we were ordered to not dress in Templar garb for fear of direct attacks."

"The Templars have separated from the chantry? Why?"

"Yes. The Templar Order has separated to act in what they believe is a better resolution to the mage rebellion—one that the Chantry simply could not perform. We have joined to work with the Seekers of Truth, trying to find a purpose under the immediate word of the Divine. The Viscount of Kirkwall is close to Lord Seeker Lambert to which I believe he receives many of his orders."

"Please," the young Templar continued. "If you could just line up your men and women. The question I have for them are few and—who is she?"

Hawke followed his gaze, knowing instantly that it was Lily he saw. "Pay her no heed. She aided in murdering a… very dear person to me in cold blood. Untied she posed a threat to my ship and crew and I could not allow that."

Hawke watched as the Templar gazed at her with a saddened expression. "I…understand. It's not Templar business so I have no quarrel with it. It's just… I'm still getting used to all of this—the violence, that is. When I joined the Templars, I had no idea I would be used to do…_this_. It's still jarring, I suppose."

"You don't agree with what your Order is doing to the mages?"

"They're not all bad," the Templar said quietly, eying around deck to be sure none of the others were close. "They're people. There are good mages who understand that magic was meant to serve man and not rule over him, and there are the ones who think the opposite. I see a mage as no different than a Templar..."

Hawke gazed at the young man with surprise. "That's a bold statement."

"I know," he sighed. "I don't say it often if at all. It's just…people can choose what they want to be. I have known Templars who break their vows, who have raped and beaten mages in secrecy, and who have abused lyrium and their powers in many ways. I know there are those who think they rightfully _rule_ over a mage. But that's not what we are supposed to do. Our role as a Templar is to _aid_ the mages. We keep them safe from themselves and others as they figure out their way through their Harrowing and into full-bloom. After that, if they have proven to be in control and well-minded they should be let go to live as they so choose. But this," the Templar exclaimed, using his hand to motion towards the Gallows and the events happening on the dock, "this is not what we were meant for."

"That is an interesting notion, friend. It's refreshing to see such an even-minded Templar. But thoughts like that must bring you trouble now, no?"

"I don't ever dare speak of them to other Templars. Most of the Templars here have become self-righteous because of what happened to the Chantry. My order began throwing accusations, blaming all others for allowing the Mages too much freedom." The young Templar laughed sadly to himself. "I think it happened not because of their freedoms, but because of their oppressions. I have seen them first hand for several years now: a civil and political war waged on hatred and dire mistrust

and understandings. It has been very bad in Kirkwall for a very long time. If I speak out against my Order now, I would fear for not only myself, but my wife and newborn girl. There are zealots on both side, I fear."

Hawke extended her hand. "That will always be the case. Regardless, it is refreshing to meet one such as yourself none-the-less. My name is… Mari."

"Mari," the Templar nodded, extending his hand to shake hers firmly in return. "I am Ser Braiden."

Irial eyed Lily nervously.

"Please," Hawke motion, giving him permission to check the ship. "Go ahead and check what you need to amongst the crew. I have business in the city."

The apostate had grown very pale in their travels, accentuating her bruised skin and the redness that had formed around her midsection and wrists. Her hair had dulled and her demeanor weakened. Lily no longer had the energy to look Hawke in the eye when she walked up to her.

"I ought to just give you to him," Hawke whispered, more hiss than anything. "After what you've done I should just let you rot."

"Then why don't you," Lily asked weakly, her head hung low. "Just do it. Let him have me."

Hawke noticed Irial speaking with Ser Braiden, nodding her head as he made his way off the ship and waved the okay to the others of his party. He checked something off on the parchment he carried and began to make his way to another part of the dock.

"Because," Hawke removed her boot dagger and pressed it lightly to Lily's chest, "as much as I want to feel my dagger rupture that icicle you call a heart, my quarrel was not with you. I will not condemn you for loving and following a horrible man. I will loathe you. I might even be petty and wish you ill," Hawke continued, lowering her dagger to cut through Lily's bindings, "but I will not kill you."

Lily, frail and exhausted, fell to the floor in a wilting heap. "…you would let me go?"

"…I have already taken the life of the one who wronged me. Killing you would change nothing. It would make me _feel_ nothing. Believe me," Hawke said, clenching her jaw harshly as she stared at Lily, "I've had to re-convince myself of such a thing for days now. And as much as it might please me, I know it would not help. So get off my ship before I change my mind, apostate."

Using the mast as a support was the only way Lily was able to stand. She breathed heavily, raising her eyes to meet Hawke. "I will not say thank you."

"I would not expect it," Hawke said lowly, her lip curling as she watched as the apostate walking slowly off of the vessel, never daring to look back.

Irial crossed her arms and took her place beside Hawke, observing the mage walk off into the distance. "I don't understand it, but that was…decent of you to let her go."

Hawke's expression was hard. "There was nothing decent in it. Facing Kirkwall as it is now is far worse for her than anything I could do. It was just another way of sticking a blade in her. The only difference is that this time I won't have to wipe her blood off of the deck."

"Oh." Irial nodded, understanding the morbidity behind the statement.

"Just let it be done, Irial. We can only move forward now."

"Aye. But…what do we do now?"

Hawke glanced over at the young woman. "We find our way from here. You haven't been off a ship in years. How about we gather our belongings and make our way into the city? With a prayer and a lot of luck, I may still know a place where we can rest safely."

"Oh," Irial perked up, happy to hear any semblance of good news. She followed Hawke eagerly back into the Captain's Quarters. "Where is it?"

Hawke fastened two large, leather pouches to her hip, securing the latches tightly before moving to sheath her sword and double check for the daggers in her boot. Her shield, worn and scratched from battle still held the symbol of her family: two winged gryphons on their hind legs that faced one another. Hawke ran her fingers along it one more time before choosing one of Quib's more drab pieces. She fastened two leather strap-holders over her shoulders and attached the piece of armor to her back.

"We're going to Hightown."

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

The air was cooler up in the ship's nest. Isabela had her eyes closed and face tilted towards the sun. Its warmth mixed with the heavy taste of salt on her lips was the best form of solace the pirate could find aboard her brig. For days now the crew had been worried about their Captain. Whispers travelled amongst the men's ears, talk of how Isabela was slowly losing her way. She had become solitary after Hawke's capture, stowing herself in her private quarters, only coming out to ensure the ship's course was still set and that all was well. Bodok was quick to silent any crew member who dared speak out against his Captain, but the dwarf knew his methods would only work for so long.

Still, it was refreshing to see Isabela outside and in the sun again, up high in her favorite spot on the ship.

"Cap'n," he called out to her, placing his hand by mouth. "We'll be hitting the docks of Kirkwall in a day n' a half. Her course is staying true."

"Good," Isabela said softly, lowering her gaze to meet that of her dwarven friend and ship mate. "Keep her steady, Bodok."

"Cap'n," Bodok called out again uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Andraste's smoking ass, do ya think I could get a moment of your time?"

Isabela swung her legs over the nest effortlessly and climbed down with grace and ease. "Walk with me into my cabin. What's the issue?"

"The men, they've been…" The dwarf was hesitant to talk. Knowing that his Captain had been through several hardships lately made the issue all the harder to bring up. "Cap'n, the men…they've been talking. Some of them don't know what to make of this situation. On Brandel's Reach, a lot of them heard rumors that monsters have taken over Thedas; that the skies have ripped open and released them upon us. If you ask me, I'd say they're all a bunch of blighting nug-humpers scared of children's night-stories. But it's got them all riled up in their small clothes. Most of them don't agree with going back for one person. They think the ol' cog-wheel on you needs some grease. And none of them understand why we haven't found any treasure."

"Bodok," Isabela said gently, taking a seat at her desk, "I don't expect them to understand. I don't even expect them to follow or wait for me while I search for Hawke. It's just something I need to do."

Bodok furrowed his bushy brows at her. "Cap'n?"

"When we left the city almost two years ago it was in shambles. You were there at the docks, you saw what happened. Only a fool would think that it would be okay now. I am going to Kirkwall because I _will_ find Hawke. The men are right, I am taking us back to land for one person and one person only, and so, when we make it to Kirkwall I want you to take the men and leave."

"What?" Bodok slammed an open palm harshly against her desk's surface. "I ain't about to let you do this alone. A Quarter Master belongs with his Cap'n. And that's you."

"Bodok—"

"No," the dwarf said, his thick hand smacking the wood beneath it again. "The last time you told me to get my arse back to the ship you ended up with an arrow in your soddin' tit. I ain't doing it again, Cap'n. You're the first decent pirate I've followed. You do damn good work controlling the ship and you're easy on my eyes. I'm staying, and no order of yours will change that…ser."

Isabela could tell by the look in his eyes that he was not going to budge on his decision. It comforted Isabela to know that she had such loyalty in this dwarf, but it also saddened her because she could not figure if she entirely deserved it. "Very well," she said firmly. "If you want to stay, then by all means, do stay. I can't seem to change your mind in the matter. But if you're going to be so damned stubborn, then at least stay with the ship and make sure it doesn't get boarded or stolen. Whatever men want to stay can stay. If they wish to leave than let them leave. If the docks become problematic, go out to sea and return in one week's time. Do you understand me?"

"Cap'n, I won't leave you to fight them alone—"

"Bodok," Isabel said, getting to her feet so that she could lean into her desk. "You say you're my Quarter Master so be a damn Quarter Master! You belong to the _ship_, not me. I admire your loyalty, but I need someone to take charge here in my absence. Now will that mate be you or not?"

"…aye, Cap'n," he finally said, relenting to Isabela's logical words. "I will keep her safe while you're gone."

"Good. Now, tell the men what we've spoken about. Tell them to make their choices and plans. But let them know that until we dock, their asses belong to me and this brig. And we are not stopping until we see those damned ridiculous gates of Kirkwall. "

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

Small parchment letters littered the streets of Kirkwall, images and words that spoke of the Mage rebellion's cause. Irial picked a few up from the ground.

"_No more Circle, no more Templars, and no more chains."_

"_Freedom is not a choice that can be made for others."_

"_Change will come."_

Templars roamed in groups, sporting heavy-plate armor, shields, and swords as they scouted out the city for any form of illegal magics or mage sympathizers. Hawke ripped the parchment papers from the younger woman before crumpling them up and tossing them away quickly. Irial grabbed onto Hawke's arm, shrinking into her as she watched the Templars take a woman by the arm and question her openly. The lady's pitch was high and full of panic. She tugged her arm back and shook her head, telling them to leave her alone because she was no mage. Irial's mouth fell as one back handed her to the ground, the others taking her by the biceps and dragging her away for whatever they saw fit.

"They can't do—"

"Don't watch," Hawke said softly as she looked and walked forward on their path, placing a hand over the younger woman's and tugging her away. "There's nothing we can do. Come on, it isn't much farther now. We just have to make it down this alley."

"What did she do wrong?"

"Nothing. She picked up one of those parchments from the ground as you did."

Irial's eyes widened. "And that was enough to…do that?"

"It was enough. Now hurry, we're almost there."

"We're going that way? I see nothing but rubble, Haw—er—Mari." Irial scowled at herself and repeated the name several times so that she would remember.

Hawke released Irial and stood in silence as she came into view of the ruined Chantry. Its steps, once grand and topped with golden statues were still cracked and littered with large pieces of rubble from the massive building that still remained broken behind them. Apparently Kirkwall never fully recovered from the event—in more ways than one. Homeless men and women were scattered among the ruins; one had created a small fire-pit to keep warm and cook his rodent meal. Others had taken refuge near the walls, a hand always out in hopes that a few coin might be dropped in. Hightown was no longer, it seemed. Now, it was a no man's land. It was picked clean and forgotten about, only now mentioned as a reason for war.

Irial watched in sadness. There were a few sisters and guards that remained near the rubble and ruins, attempting to help and care for the hurt, weak, and poor. "What are we doing here?"

Irial followed as Hawke walked some ways down an eastern street, facing the entrance to an obviously run-down estate. Most of the windows had been broken and re-boarded, probably done so by squatters. Some of the walls had cracked, and Hawke couldn't tell if that was because of the Chantry falling, or because of the war. Either way, Irial tailed closely as Hawke stood in front of door and produced a small, metal key from one of her pouches.

"I'm sorry if it wasn't what you were expecting when I said 'safe'. But this is home. Or, it used to be…"

"Home," Irial repeated, watching as Hawke unlocked the door and shrinking away when it opened with a sound that only rusted metal and old wood could make. "I haven't had a home in a very long time. I don't care what it looks like on the inside or out." Irial reassured the warrior, putting a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I'm just happy to be on land. It's still a weird feeling, but I like it…even if it's here."

Hawke smiled with half an effort before nodding and opening the door just enough for both her and Irial to squeeze through. The Estate was dusty, to say the least, and smelled of moss, dirt, and wet stone. Hawke looked at Irial and placed a finger to her own lips, holding her hand out to stop the younger woman from moving a muscle.

Something was wrong. While there were no visible squatters, the curtains on the inside of the Estate had all been shut. However, instead of darkness, the comforting and very familiar glow of the estate's large fire pit radiated throughout the formal entry way. Someone was here.

Quietly, Hawke drew her sword and the shield from her back. Raising the shield in front of her, Hawke inched towards the light, making sure that her steps made only the softest of clicks against the stone floor. Upon passing the archway, Hawke heard a mighty yell and raised her shield to block the incoming blow of a sword. Irial screamed. Whoever it was had placed themselves against the wall and waited for Hawke to pass for the advantage.

"You will not commit your atrocities here, apostate!"

Hawke pushed the attacker away and raised her shield again, blocking several almost immediate counter blows before lashing out with her own. "I am no apostate," Hawke howled, slamming her blade into a raised bulwark. "But you," Hawke said, using her shield to commit a vicious bash that forced her opponent to stumble backwards, "are trespassing!" The distance Hawke managed to make between them ushered the warrior into a charge, only stopping when shield met shield in a thunderous clank.

"_Enough,_" Hawke heard her opponent scream, grunting when she felt the bulwark ram back into her own shield. Hawke readied herself with a counter strike, but upon lifting her weapon and seeing a glimpse of her adversary, Hawke's entire body froze. She took several steps back in retreat, her arms falling to the side and her sword nearly falling from her grasp.

"…Aveline..."

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_A/N: A quick thank you to all who have followed or placed SLPP in their favorites. I look forward to hearing your feed-back and criticisms. Your reviews greatly help me in wanting to continue this story and make it better. I am trying to get back into the habit of weekly/bi-weekly updates again, so any help is good help. : )_


	15. No and Yes

_A/N: Please excuse all spelling and grammatical errors as I am the only one who checks the document after writing it._

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Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 15: No and Yes

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"…Aveline?"

Hawke watched the guardswoman's battle stance change, slowly transforming into something non-aggressive. Aveline stood up straight, her eyes revealing a strong sense of disbelief. "It can't be…"

It was as if everything that had happened to Hawke these last few weeks had finally caught up with her. Having this strong, red-headed woman in front of her eyes brought back memories that had long since been hidden away. Aveline had been with Hawke through all of it as both party member and friend for six years, a constant source of comfort and calm for reasons that Hawke couldn't and didn't want to explain. All she knew is that this woman somehow represented a fragment of what home was supposed to be, and the sight of it was both overwhelming and welcoming.

"It's you," Aveline exhaled, moving forward until both women held each other in a tight embrace. "Hawke," she said through a large smile, holding Hawke by the biceps and moving her away to see her face. "Maker, you're alright. Why are you here?"

Hawke, for the first time in a long time, smiled genuinely back. She raised her hand to Aveline's cheek and laughed. "I could ask the same. It's good to see you, Aveline."

Aveline looked around for who she knew was a second person to enter. "Is that Isabela," she asked, knowing that the pirate-wench had stayed with Hawke after the Chantry's fall.

When Irial stepped forward from the shadowed entrance Aveline felt her eyebrows furrow. She looked at Hawke whose eyes had fallen dreary. Hawke shook her head.

Aveline nodded and took a moment to think fondly of her unconventional friend. "Isabela," she whispered. "It seems that we have a lot to speak of. The question is…where do we begin, Hawke?"

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

Hawke had told Aveline of everything that happened to her after her departure from Kirkwall. She spoke of her dream with Carter and Anders, of Isabela and Mr. Scuttles, of Merrick and Flynn, of Quib, Lily and Irial. Hawke spoke of the betrayals that lead to Isabela's fall and the reason for her returning to Kirkwall. Aveline had remained quiet through it all, listening intently and occasionally nodding her head until Hawke stopped speaking.

"It's not been easy here either, Hawke. What happened to the Chantry has started something that has moved far beyond the gates of Kirkwall. A lot of good people have died because of it. And I fear that these past few years have only been the beginning."

"I've gathered as much from a conversation with a young Templar at the docks. The Templar Order is under the rule of the Viscount? What of the Guard, Aveline?"

"The Viscount is taking orders from the Seekers; it is them that the Templar Order follows now. As for the Guard…it has been difficult to say. Most days it feels as if they are cows being put to slaughter. I am starting to believe that the Viscount simply sees them as a means to an end."

"You would allow that?"

"…I no longer have a say in the matter."

"You're joking."

"I was removed from my position as captain—replaced by someone who the Viscount and his Lord Seeker found to be more…agreeable."

"And Donnic? Has your husband remained in the guard?"

"Donnic…fell."

"Aveline," Hawke whispered. "I am so… how? When?"

"…Hawke." Aveline's tone was lenient but clear in intent. "Too soon."

"Of course. Of course," Hawke repeated, softer the second time.

"I am still well respected by the Guard, if that still carries any weight. I still find myself making the rounds around Kirkwall, checking in on the guards to see if they are well. It has been a hard habit to break myself of."

"Is that why you at here?"

"I am here because there is nowhere else to go. I took a vow to aid the people of Kirkwall and regardless of my position among the Guard I intend to keep it."

"Aveline," Hawke finally said, a small grin coming to her lips, "I meant here at the estate. Is that why you've been here at the _estate_? You said something about atrocities and apostates before striking at me." Maker, Aveline could get so serious sometimes.

Aveline exhaled and rubbed her eyes. "The abandoned places around Kirkwall are the worst. I've been keeping your estate intact and free of squatters and rebel apostates looking for trouble. It's this damned conflict," Aveline groaned. "The harder the Templar Order squeezes, the worse the Mage rebellion becomes. There is talk of a small group of Blood Mages banning together, moving from one abandoned place to another. To what end I do not know. Some say they are the ones attacking the Templars and Guards in small patrols, and are responsible for helping Apostates enter and leave the city."

"Is there truth to these claims?"

Aveline considered the question. "It is difficult to confirm or deny. I've encountered some grizzly scenes on my routes. I've seen blood sprayed onto walls twelve feet high but not one soul around to either endorse or dismiss the suspicions. If there are blood mages at work, I've not seen them. All I know is that the number of Apostates in Kirkwall must be growing."

"Is the Viscount taking action?"

"If by taking action you mean setting up Templars and Guards at the docks and the four corners of Kirkwall's gates…then yes. If you are asking if his actions go beyond that…" Aveline shook her head. "It's all gone to shit, Hawke. Majority of the Viscount's arrangements are towards bringing the leader of the Mage Rebellion forward—to no success. He is a puppet that is being used and played with."

Hawke leaned forward in her chair and rested her elbows on her knees. "The Viscount sent out a letter for my retrieval to Kirkwall. Do you know anything of it?"

Aveline rested back against her chair, looking Hawke in the eyes. "I'm not sure. The Viscount asked for Varric a while ago under the request of the Lord Seeker …I've not seen Varric since. I tried to follow up as Captain of the Guard, inquiring to his location and the reason for his disappearance, but I was given no major details and stripped of my rank soon thereafter. I was told, however, that he held information the Seekers needed. That leads me to believe that he was taken for interrogation."

"Maker's breath…"

Aveline nodded slowly. Irial sat beside Hawke on the ground, her knees bent and curled to her chest. All three women remained silent for a while, listening only to the crackling of wood in the fire pit.

"Hawke?"

"Aveline?"

"Why are you back in Kirkwall?"

Hawke looked to Aveline and sighed; the red-head had a very severe look upon her face and Hawke knew instantly here was no point in beating around the bush.

"Out with it, Hawke."

"I came to speak with the Viscount at his request."

Aveline stood from her chair. "No. You should not be back in Kirkwall much less marching into the Viscount's office. They'll haul you off, Hawke. You won't get two words in before they drag you to the Gallows or worse."

"Aveline," Hawke said gently, standing to her own feet to meet the opposing green eyes. "There is a reward of three-thousand sovereigns for my return to the Viscount. I was asked to be brought back unharmed. I need to know what for."

Aveline laughed morosely and shook her head. "There is no reward, Hawke. There can't be! The Viscount barely has the coin the aid the people of Kirkwall much less hand out that fortune to contract-workers. If you go, you'll be hauled off for questioning or dead by the end of the night."

"Then how do you expect me to handle this? I can't run for the rest of my life, Aveline."

"You should have thought of that before aiding an apostate in destroying the Chantry and killing the Grand Cleric." Aveline's face contorted in ire, her green eyes peering into Hawke.

Irial's mouth dropped open. So _that's_ what Hawke did.

"That's unfair, Aveline. If I had known what he was doing I would have stopped him. You know that better than anyone else."

"Do you always blindly follow others into doing their bidding? Did you ever consider the consequences? Do you think of all the people who have died—people who were precious and important—"

"I loved him," Hawke shouted. "I _trusted_ him, Aveline! It was a _mistake_. What he did has haunted me every night since it has happened. I _helped_ him do it, and I acknowledge and loathe the fact. I should have been more persistent in my questions when I spoke to him. I should have done a million and one things differently, but I didn't. I have gone about this situation very wrong for a very long time. I need to do something about it, Aveline. The time to take responsibility is here."

Aveline remained silent.

Hawke regarded the ginger-haired warrior, straightening her posture and trying her damnedest to not display the hurt that Aveline's comments brought to her. She remembered very vividly the short moment she and her companions had to speak before entering the Gallows to meet and battle Meredith for the last time. Hawke had dragged them all through the fire and back, but it was Aveline that Hawke always felt worse for. The woman held a position of respect and power; she had been newly married and had finally begun building her life again. The Guardswoman and her husband had just bought a modest but comfortable home near the barracks when Anders decided to destroy the Chantry.

But Hawke was always very clear in what position she took when it came to the Mage and Templar rivalry. Before meeting Meredith, Hawke had apologized to Aveline for destroying her life. Aveline only laughed and shrugged her shoulders. _"It seems inevitable when being your friend. You really know how to put loyalty to the test." _But before Hawke could walk away, Aveline had reached out to grab her shoulder. _"Hawke, it's worth it…"_

"No," Hawke said, gesturing with her hand, "you knew what you were signing up for when you followed me into battle. I gave every person at my side multiple chances to walk away when the Chantry fell. I did that because I _could not_ ask you all to follow me after I knew what I had helped do. So this isn't even about me, is it?"

Aveline sat back in her seat and looked down; her hands rested on her knees and her head slightly hung. "No. And Yes."

Hawke took a knee in front of her friend. "I have known you for almost eight years now. _Eight _years," Hawke stressed. "We fled from the blight and made new lives for ourselves together. We've seen those we love die and have mourned together. I would go to the Black City and back for you. I am _sorry_, Aveline."

Aveline opened her lips to speak but nothing came out. She sat in stillness for several moments, thinking and occasional shaking her head as she thought to herself.

"I let them all down, Hawke. I promised myself that I wouldn't let all of this happen again. First it was Wesley and Carver, and now it was Donnic and Varric. The Maker does have a sense of humor, doesn't he? I wield a shield but can't seem to protect anyone behind it."

"…there are things that happen that are simply out of our control."

"I know that," Aveline said unsympathetically, looking up and into the flames of the fire pit. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

Irial quietly set down two small goblets and a bottle on the table near Aveline's chair and backed away.

Aveline regarded the young woman quietly, her expression softening as several moments passed. "Thank you."

Hawke sighed, looking at the drinks before filling both goblets and handing one to both Aveline and Irial.

Irial shook her head as Hawke forced the cup into her hands. "I d-don't think I should. You two should go ahead and have it…"

"You've lost people too," Hawke said, looking at the young woman with a nod. She raised the bottle into the air. "To Isabela."

"For… Donnic. A good man."

Irial smiled sadly and raised her goblet. "My sister and father…"

"And to all the rest," Hawke continued, her voice lowering. "Wherever they may be…"

Aveline nodded, "May they be safe and well."

Hawke and Aveline drank deeply. They both grinned afterwards, watching as Irial stared into her goblet, her eyes crossed and focused on the liquid. She drank at a snale's pace.

"Easy girl," Aveline said. "Too much at a time and you'll go blind with that technique."

Irial put her goblet down slowly and ignored the blush at her cheeks. "Sorry," she said, wiping her mouth. "I don't drink."

"Obviously," Aveline grinned, her tone hard yet soft all at once—a talent only Aveline seemed to possess.

"Oh Irial," Hawke whispered through a small smile of her own. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I…I was thinking I would go home. My mother was never in the best health. I need to look for my little sisters."

Aveline looked over to the now silent Hawke.

"Of course," Hawke finally said, shaking her head and standing to embrace the younger woman. "You've been gone from them much too long. We'll rest here the night and put you on a boat first thing tomorrow."

"Thank you," Irial said softly, hugging Hawke fiercely. "You were the first kind person to me in a very long time. You saved my life in a time when I only wanted it to end. I don't know why you chose to keep me along as long as you did, but thank you…"

They separated from each other after a few more moments. Hawke looked at the young woman fondly. "You remind me of my sister. She's only little older than you by now."

Irial smiled. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know," Hawke replied, looking over to Aveline who shook her head. "The last we saw of her she was leaving Kirkwall."

"You'll find your sister again," Irial said, nodding surely. "You will."

"I hope so. But until then, let's at least get you on your way back home to yours. So let's get some food in that stomach and pouch packed up for you tonight…"

"I've been keeping what I can in your larder, Hawke. It's not much but it'll get us by for a few days. Pack the girl well."

Hawke nodded. She understood now that Aveline had been living here at her old estate what with Donnic falling and the guardswoman's house being caught in some of the rubble from the Chantry. "I'm glad you've stayed here, Aveline."

"It's the only other place that ever felt like home."

"Did your house sustain terrible damage?" Hawke began packing an extra pouch for Irial and looked over at Aveline.

"It suffered some damage, but it was nothing that couldn't be repaired."

Hawke lowered her eyes.

"I pass by every other day to make sure no one else gets the best of it. But I just don't have the heart to walk in there anymore."

"You don't have to explain," Hawke said softly, watching as Aveline gave a nod to her. "Irial," she continued, turning her attention and the topic towards the girl, "I'm putting sovereigns, food, and a knife in your pouch. Keep the knife in your boot and keep your sovereigns covered. Transport vessels are miserable so mostly everyone keeps to themselves below deck. Do the same and you'll make it home just fine."

"You're giving me gold?"

"There was plenty to spare. And the way that I see it, for as long as you've served on that ship you deserve a good slice of the profits. Make a good life for yourself and your sisters when you see them."

"…but…"

"Don't fuss," Aveline said, "Hawke won't change her mind about it. Take the coin, girl."

"Thank you both very much," Irial said softly, nodding at both Aveline and Hawke. "I won't forget this."

Aveline watched as Hawke packed the girl's bag and sent her up to sleep on the old, large bed upstairs. The ex-guardswoman nodded her approval when Hawke took a seat next to her. "She's a good girl, that one."

"She is," Hawke agreed. "It's better that she goes."

"It is better that she goes, Hawke. You're a dangerous person to follow. Are you really going to just march into the Viscount's office?"

Hawke sighed and looked towards Aveline. "Do you have another plan?"

"Officer Brennan is still in the guard. I can ask her to find out what she can. It may not be much, the guards aren't as well informed as the Templars, but it's a start."

"…the Templars…wait. Aveline, you're a genius!"

Aveline squint her eyes in suspicion. "Hawke? What is it that you propose?"

"Ask Brennan to find out what you can, but do you remember when I told you that I met a young Templar at the docks? He was kind and didn't believe in doing a lot of what the Viscount was asking."

"Will the man talk?"

"I don't know. But, like you said, it's a start. Are you sure you want to help me?"

Aveline shook her head. "No and yes."

"I don't want to drag you into another one of my messes, Aveline. Not if you don't want to come."

"I'm angry about a lot of things, Hawke. When I lay down at night I can't figure out if it's because of me or because of you: I chose to follow, yes. But you chose to lead. And I can't tell which of us made it the worse because of it. All I know is that what's done is done and nothing will change the losses or wounds that either of us has sustained. So I am with you… for now."

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_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has favorite, followed, and commented on this story! I appreciate it all very much and look forward to what you have to say._


	16. Seeing Double

A/N: Please excuse any errors as I am the only one who checks the document after writing. And sorry for the slightly late post! But you'll find this one is double the length of a usual chapter.

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Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 16: Seeing Double

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It was still raining out. The Docks were still at this time of morning; besides a few roves on their way out and the plopping sound of water droplets hitting the faces of stone, metal and wood, Hawke seemed to be one of the few out and about on business. A few Templars had already arrived, chatting with each other and making quick rounds around the loading areas. It had been a short while since she had put Irial on a ship, and now Hawke sat on a wooden crate and watched quietly from a distance, waiting for Ser Braiden to arrive and take his place amongst the others. The light drops of water felt good on Hawke's seemingly always too-warm body. She couldn't recall when the tingle under her skin became present. All Hawke knew is that when she noticed it, she could feel it crawl from her spine to the tips of her fingers. More often than not, she caught herself staring at her hand, flexing and curling her digits until it went away.

A disgruntled voice is what snapped her out of her daze. Hawke could see the Templars giving some man trouble in the distance. It was supposed to be a routine check of the cargo he was bringing in, but Hawke knew better; he was wearing a robe and carrying a cane. Apparently his attire and choice of accessory was enough to bring him his misfortune. Hawke couldn't help but shake her head at the sight, watching as they hauled yet another in for questioning.

"Ah, Captain Mari!"

Hawke turned to notice Ser Braiden approaching her with a small smile and extended hand. "Ser Braiden," she replied, giving her own in return. "Trying to startle a woman, are you?"

"Forgive me," Braiden chuckled. "I always come in through the back rather than the stairs up front. It's a shorter walk. What brings you to my post today? Do I need to sign off on cargo before you go?"

Hawke shook her head with a smile, "Not at all. I just love the smell of the sea. It reminds me of someone dear to me. Besides, the men have expressed their desire to remain on land for a small while longer."

"The Blooming Rose?"

"The Blooming Rose," Hawke agreed with a laugh. "How has your morning been so far? I think I've seen your friends over there haul off about three people already, and I've only been sitting here for a short while."

Ser Braiden watched the other Templars and sighed. "It's been…busy."

"Goodness," Hawke grinned, "that's the look of a man that needs a drink."

Braiden nodded his head and leaned back against a wooden crate near Hawke. He folded his arms and watched as his peers scared the blight out of more civilians. "More than you know. This Mage hunt is only adding more fuel to the already large fire. There have been a lot innocent people caught in the crosshairs. It's beginning to dishearten some of the men."

Hawke nodded her head. "Isn't that always the case when any kind of war is afoot?"

"It is an ugly but true fact, Captain."

"So, how is that tactic working? Are you just taking in anyone who looks suspicious?"

"If you look or act the part, you get taken in for questioning. If the city has record of your family line being potent in magic and you still reside in the city, you get taken in for questioning."

Hawked frowned. Her own bloodline was thick with the essence of mana. Her sister Bethany was a mage much like their father. Many of her cousins, aunts, and uncles had ended up being touched with magic, but none of them were bad people much less mages. Part of Hawke was grateful that no one was left in Kirkwall now; she wouldn't be able to stomach the thought of any harm coming to them intentionally. "To what end, I wonder," she pondered aloud.

Braiden sniggered with half a heart, "The viscount wishes to bring the leader of the Mage rebellion forward on behalf of Lord Seeker Lambert. Kirkwall is falling into shambles. Some semblance of peace needs to be made so that city and its people do not crumble with this rivalry. But honestly, at this point it's like kicking a dead horse. We're not getting anywhere."

"So the Viscount wants peace, but is having them treated like they're all guilty of crime? Is that how he shows that he cares for his people?"

Braiden pondered the question and scratched the stubble under his chin in thought. "I think the Viscount cares about the Viscount. Without a city, what would he be in charge of?"

"A shame," Hawke said through a hard scowl.

"It always is," Ser Braiden agreed. "Hopefully this situation becomes contained very soon. Otherwise, I'd recommend that you and your men leave Kirkwall as soon as you can."

"Oh?" Hawke's interest was now piqued.

Ser Braiden looked across the docks for a moment, once again watching his Templar peers with unease. "There's been talk of the Divine sending her soldiers if the situation becomes any worse. The Lord Seeker is desperate in his attempts to control the situation under her on his own, but her Most Holy has already sent out a call that may aid Thedas." The Templar scoffed a harsh and impatient sound. "Lambert trying to show his worth by finding this Mage leader, but to the rest of us down in the field it seems like he's just looking for a pat on the head."

"What could possibly help this situation?" Hawke looked over to Ser Braiden, watching as his facial features twitched and wrinkled with concern.

"Some of the Templars and Guardsmen have talked. Some have heard ridiculous names pop up like the Hero of Ferelden." Ser Braiden laughed, the tone seemingly made more of mockery than humor. "No one's seen that man since the Blight ended. He literally vanished without a trace, and they seem to think that sending a friendly letter and a few headhunters will do the trick. It's been like finding particular pieces of straw in a hay bale so far."

Ser Braiden sighed upon seeing another Templar becoming too rough with a young woman. "Too many years have passed and much has changed. I bet that everyone who once mattered is either dead or long gone." He removed his sword and began walking towards the commotion. "We need to find solutions to this problem, not saviors. Have a good morning, Captain."

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

The sun was already high in the sky, and trying to get to the Viscount's keep was hell. The alleyways and main roads were backed up by floods of people trying to either get in or away. Packs of Templars and Guards moved from place to place in attempts to keep the ruckus down and violence level to a disgruntled minimum. Hawke could have sworn that the line of people who stood outside of the Viscount's keep must have been a mile long and half a mile thick. All of these people were desperate for some sort of aid; some requested more rations, others wanted to plead for family members in holding. Hawke could see Aveline in the far distance. She was kneeling down and offering medical assistance to a young girl who had injured her knee in some fashion.

"Pardon me," Hawke said loudly over the noise, trying to break her way through the crowds. "Passing through," she continued. "Excu—" Hawke hissed as someone bumped into her shoulder harshly, squishing her between a larger man and a stone wall. "Watch where you're bloody going," Hawke shouted, lifting a fist towards her offender. Hawke sighed in aggravation and shoved the larger man on top of her to the side. She uncurled her fingers to reveal a note that was slipped into her hand with surprise.

_Lowtown after dark. No guards. No Templars._

Hawke's eyes snapped into the crowd. A figure cloaked in a brown hood was looking at her. He or She nodded before turning to quickly maneuver through the mass of people. "Hey," Hawke shouted. "Wait! Hey!"

"Move," the warrior snarled, wiggling her way through the heat and stench of closely packed people. She could see the bobbing of her intruder's cloaked head and tried her damndest to keep up. Upon finally clearing the small sea, Hawke ran around the corner she last saw the cloaked figure moving towards. "STOP—" The alley was empty. Hawke's upper lip lifted, and she found herself harshly kicking a barrel in frustration. The alley didn't have any obvious exits. It had a broken cobblestone floor and two solid walls on either side; there were no windows or sewer passages, so Hawke found herself looking up the length of the tall walls.

"No ladders, no windows nor doors…where in the Maker's name have they gone?"

"Hey!"

Hawke spun around to see Aveline running towards her. "I'd know that scream anywhere," the ex-guardswoman said, catching her breath quickly. "What's the issue, Hawke?"

Hawke turned back to eye the empty alley before handing Aveline the note. "Someone put this on me as I was making my way towards the keep. They were cloaked; I think the hood was brown. They've disappeared."

Aveline read the note before looking to Hawke with furrowed brows. "Lowtown after dark? That's never an appealing offer. It never means anything good either."

"No, it doesn't."

Aveline eyed the alleyway much like Hawke, looking for any hint of the unusual. "Did your Templar talk?"

"I didn't want to raise suspicion so I tried to keep the conversation casual. The Divine sent out a call of some sort. Ser Braiden mentioned the Hero of Ferelden—that Cousland man. He was a person whose name was listed with mine. Whether it goes hand in hand, I'm still not sure. Did Guardswoman Brennan find anything?"

"Here," Aveline said, handing the other warrior a letter. "It does, in fact, go hand in hand with this, then. Brennen risked her hide getting that, Hawke. The Divine is forming an Inquisition."

"I see you've already read it," Hawke chuckled.

Aveline nodded with a stone expression. "If it involves one of mine it becomes my business."

"And what does it say about this Inquisition," Hawke mumbled, opening the letter.

"She is attempting to bring together Templars, Soldiers, Mages, Enchanters—all of it. The Tevinter Imperium has become involved as well. I've been behind Kirkwall's walls too long now, and you've been too long at sea. Much more is going on than this damned quarrel in Kirkwall."

"Maker," Hawke breathed, reading the letter with wide eyes. "…there can't be another Blight so soon, can there?"

"Reports show that the veil is thin and tearing in many areas all across Thedas, Hawke. I don't know if it's a Blight or something much worse, but the Divine sees that everything is falling apart. She needs people and resources to aid in healing the land and ending this conflict."

"You were right about what you said before," Hawke said, flipping the letter to read that back. "What happened here was just the start."

"You're being summoned to Orlais," Aveline said firmly. "And it wasn't by the Viscount here. The Divine herself has called for everyone on a list made by her own hand. And that list has been sent out all across Thedas; if found, they are to return or be returned to the nearest city and send word of their decision."

Hawke folded the letter and placed it safely inside one of her pouches. She looked at Aveline with eyes that portrayed a small shame. "I've been quite the fool, haven't I? All this time I thought they wanted me for a good hanging, so I ran while everything fell…"

Aveline grinned, walking over to the other warrior and placing a hand on her shoulder. "When you say it like that, then it does seem a bit short sighted. But, on the other hand, what were you supposed to think? What is anyone supposed to think given the circumstances?"

"I need to send word to the Viscount that I am agreeing to heed the Divine's call."

"And what of this?" Aveline held up the small, scribbled on piece of parchment that was handed to her earlier.

"Well," Hawke began, considering the small note. "Someone obviously knows I'm back in the city, and there is only one way to find out who it is…"

Aveline scrunched her nose. "How is it that trouble always knows to find you at inopportune times?"

"Perhaps it's attracted to my good looks?"

Aveline crossed her arms and snorted. "With that haircut?"

"Be nice," Hawke said, her lips forming a small pout.

Aveline rolled her eyes and nodded her head in direction they needed to go. "Come on. Do you have your sword?"

Hawke unsheathed her sword and followed behind Aveline, "Yes, but the holster on my shield broke this morning. Do think you could get me another, mummy? Or how about another sword? Did you know that I can use two at a time?"

Aveline turned her face to glare at the slightly younger woman. "So help me, Hawke…"

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

The pair of women had passed the next few hours at the hanged man, chatting quietly amongst themselves while filling their bellies with food and water. When night had finally fallen in Lowtown, Hawke and Aveline found themselves wandering the dark streets, their hands firmly gripping the hilts of their weapons. The minutes ticked away, and they felt as if they had been all around the frowzy area too long, searching the nooks and crannies for any sign of activity. The merchant quarter was their last stop, and while it was usually busy with trade and chatter, it was now quiet and empty under the guise of darkness.

"You think they would have given us a meeting point," Aveline said begrudgingly. "We should leave, Hawke. I don't like walking blind."

"Aveline?"

"What?"

Hawke pointed in the direction of a shop that was far off to their left and down a short alleyway. "Lyrene's Ferelden Imports."

Aveline observed the alleyway that led towards the small Imports warehouse. "There's light around the corner. Their front lantern must still be burning."

The pair stared at each other before nodding and heading in the direction together. Upon passing through the alley, both women came face to face with an old, wooden door. "Hawke, look at this." Aveline reached up to run the tips of her fingers over a faded marking. It was a triangle with a line cutting it in half and continuing up, as if a beam were shooting through the center of a pyramid.

"You found us. I'm glad."

Aveline and Hawke turned to meet the voice. It was a much older woman, tall and thick. She was wearing an armored robe and carrying a staff adorned with feathers and stones. Her eye had been tattooed with the same marking Aveline had touched merely moments before. Behind her, a small troupe of mages stood in reinforcement. "Serah Hawke," she said, a polite smile coming to her face. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Aveline unsheathed her sword and raised her shield, eying the apostate. "They're part of the rebellion, Hawke. She bares the same marking I found—a commander of some sort, I imagine."

"Very astute, Aveline."

"How do you know my name," Aveline asked, lowering her stance into something more defensive. "Who are you?"

"Oh, we know all about you too. I am sorry to hear about your removal from the Guard. You kept it civil when you were able. We appreciated that." The apostate moved forward towards Hawke, stopping only a few feet from her. "I am Estra and I come baring a request from a… old friend of mine. The leader of our order has supported my actions."

Hawke placed a hand on Aveline's shoulder and the ex-guardswoman lowered her weapons warily. "What is it," Hawke asked.

"We know all about what you've done for the mages during your time here in Kirkwall. You stood beside us when everyone else would have had us burn or made Tranquil. I was there when you stood beside First Enchanter Orsino before Kirkwall's fall. I was also there when you defeated him. It was a sad, but necessary act. I was one of the mages that fought with you—both of you," Estra said, regarding Aveline untrusting gaze.

"Go on," Hawke said, reassuring the woman that neither her nor Aveline would strike.

"A book has been discovered by a fellow mage and delivered to my hand in secret. Its contents are invaluable and could aid us in gaining the advantage over the Templars. I need this book to be taken to Ferelden and given to the Circle there. From there, they will know what to do. I would do it myself, but Kirkwall has tightened its chains. It is becoming increasingly difficult to get past the Templars."

"What does the book contain," Hawke asked, curious as to what could turn the tide of battle in their favor.

"A cure," Estra replied, her eyes unwavering as she looked onto the pair of warriors. "It contains the information needed to undo the Rite of Tranquility."

Aveline shook her head furiously. "No," she said firmly. "This war between the two of you has to stop. You have to find the common ground and settle this with the Templars. Hawke," Aveline continued, her voice rising when she turned towards the woman. "We have bigger things to deal with."

Estra narrowed her eyes at the ex-guardswoman. "Do you think we enjoy fighting the Templars? We've been pushed into the corner, Guardswoman! If a mage in their grasp so much as sneezes wrong they're made Tranquil. Where is the justice in that? Where is the common ground in the atrocities that they perform on us? We deserve freedom and equality," Estra said, lowering her tone to something softer. She looked at Hawke, her eyes almost pleading. "They treat us worse by the second, Champion. Imagine what it'll be like in the years to come if this is allowed to continue. What will happen then? A child born to magic gets made Tranquil upon birth? Or put to death?"

Aveline stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "This war has been fair on neither side, Apostate. _Everyone_ has lost something or someone in this damned quarrel. It doesn't only pertain to your stupid rebellion or those foolish Templars and their Knight-Commanders. Look around you," Aveline spat, gesturing with her hand. "Do you see what has become of this city and its people? I've heard enough of your damned squabble to know that what you're asking will amount to no good."

Estra could feel her skin begin to tingle and she too moved forward to meet the opposing warrior. "Sooner or later a choice will always have to be made."

Aveline could feel her lip curl in anger. "Then I _choose _to walk away from this request, Apostate."

"And do you agree with your companion's sentiments, Champion?" Estra turned her head to gaze upon the dark haired woman in frustration. "Will you stand by and do nothing about this injustice?"

Hawke gazed between both individuals. Aveline had made good points, but Hawke also understood that the treatment of the Mage's _was_ too extreme. She thought of her sister Bethany and sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Well?" Estra could feel the grip on her staff tighten.

"Hawke?" Aveline turned her face to peer into the dark haired warrior's eyes.

"The Circle."

"What?" Aveline's brows furrowed, looking at Hawke in confusion.

"The book is to be taken to the Circle." Hawke stared into Aveline's orbs before looking towards the elder Mage. "You're a Circle Mage, aren't you?"

Estra measured the question before nodding. "I was. My Circle fell when the Blight struck Ferelden. Our tower was destroyed and the Templars called for the Rite of Annulment. Few of us made it out that day," she said darkly, her eyes and now thinned lips showing a grave sense of sadness and loss. "Some of us made it here to Kirkwall on a refugee ship, hoping to find a new home in the Circle here. But this circle fared no better than the last. After it was destroyed, the Templars began subjecting _all_ mages to punishment. The Circle Mages had nothing to do with the barbarism that happened to the Chantry. The Grand Cleric…she was a good woman."

Aveline exhaled before lowering her weapons and straightening her posture. She looked to Hawke before walking a short distance away to gather her own thoughts. It always seemed like there were three sides to every story now-a-days, and Aveline began finding it difficult to choose which side was the right one to stand on. She hated what had become of Kirkwall. Aveline loathed Mages and Templars equally; both sides were wrong and right in her eyes. That is why she submitted herself to the logical oath of the Guard—a black and white oath that sought out truth and justice for all. Yet life was becoming much less black and white and much grayer for the Ex-Guardswoman. Hawke had a knack for finding her way through the gray, which is why Aveline found herself following the woman in many cases outside of the Guard. Hawke, in all of her flaws, always found the white in the grayest of places—a quality Aveline admired but never admitted to. Perhaps it was time to remind herself of this. The Ex-Guardswoman nodded, staring out into the darkness in contemplation.

Hawke eyed her companion before turning back towards Estra. "Why have you not gone back to your Circle then? Did the Queen not order to have it rebuilt after the Archdemon was slain?"

"When I arrived in Kirkwall the plans for rebuilding it had not even existed yet. And by the time I heard of them, Knight-Commander Meredith had her claws dug in so deep that it became almost impossible to leave. And then when the Chantry fell…well, then it _was_ impossible to leave. Templars flooded the city like a plague. There was nowhere any of us could go without fear of death or Tranquility. Twelve days after the battle I stumbled upon a small group of mages and their leader. He had such a wonderful idea of what the future for mages should look like—full of freedom and promise. His group was on a mission that was very hard for me to forsake. These Mages had room and I had nowhere to go…and so here I am, standing before you now."

Hawke regarded Estra, looking over her face and the face of all of her comrades. "Where is the book now?"

"It is safe," Estra said calmly. "Will you take it to the Circle in Ferelden?"

"This is a difficult situation that you put me in, Estra. I understand the urgency of your situation, but you must understand that I myself am needed elsewhere in a matter just as pressing. I must make my way towards Orlais in heed of a call that I must answer."

"Then what I am asking should not be too difficult to follow. You can deliver the package on your way there. Come," Estra motioned, moving past Hawke towards the Import Warehouse. "Let us speak of your next movements in a more discrete location."

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

"Here and here," Estra motioned, pointing to two locations on a large, canvas map. Aveline, Hawke, and the Mage had taken up in Estra's private quarters. A map of Thedas had been pressed out over a table to which the trio now began examining. "Do you see now," Estra persisted. "If not by boat, then the only way to leave Kirkwall would be north through the Vimmark Mountains or west through the Planasene Forest. Our scouts on the outside have sent word that neither course would be for the wise. Darkspawn, Ghouls, and Demons," she said lowly. "They litter the areas in small clusters. Yet, even if you managed to make it through, the closest village is Cumberland—a long, treacherous trek for even the most adventurous of wanderers. There are no roads that lead there from Kirkwall. If the Templars, Blood Mages, or Darkspawn don't kill you, the terrain most certainly will."

Hawke nodded her head, examining the map more closely. "And so you propose heading south towards Ferelden."

"Aye," Estra said surely. "You'll dock at Highever where Teyrn Fergus Cousland resides. From there, it's a short journey towards the Lake Calenhad Docks and the Circle Tower. The Imperial Highway is only a hop and jump away from its location, and that road will lead you all the way towards Orlais. It's still a busy route, and many soldiers, rebel Templars and Mages roam the countryside and roads, but it's safer than the alternative."

"Fergus Cousland," Hawke repeated, looking over to Aveline who already shared the same expression.

"He's a good man," Estra nodded. "The word amongst the underground is that he tries to help every refugee that passes through his gates. It doesn't surprise me, what with the stories that I've been told about his brother. Good blood runs in their line."

"What stories," Hawke asked, staring at the woman with hard eyes. "Has he seen his brother? Does he know where he is?"

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Estra chuckled. "No one has seen or heard of him since the Archdemon's demise, Child. What I've heard of the man came only from the lips of one who stood beside him through his journey. Ah, Wynne," she said, a smile forming on her lips. "She was a good woman—a good mage."

"Would his brother know of his whereabouts?"

"Possibly," Estra shrugged. "But I wouldn't be surprised if you arrived only to find Fergus gone. As Teyrn he is sworn to the land. And if the reports we are receiving are correct…then he is needed on behalf of its defense."

Hawke leaned against the table with a mighty sigh, eyeing the map and the small dot where Highever sat. "Aveline? What do you think?"

"I…I'm with you, Hawke."

Estra gazed at the Guardswoman with somewhat surprised eyes.

Aveline leaned back in her seat. Her voice was stern when she next spoke. "I…apologize for my words before. I find myself constantly at odds with most people now-a-days, but in my journeys with Hawke I have gained a certain kind of…respect for the Mages of the Circle. It is admirable to accept living under the eyes of the ever-watching Chantry in favor of compliance and the understanding of its reasons. It must be difficult. Of that I have no doubt."

Estra nodded her head with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Guardswoman. It has not always been easy under the rules of the Circle and the Chantry, but it has not always been difficult either. However, I can no longer stand by and watch the Templars abuse their powers over us. Sooner or later, a line must be drawn. I fear that if the Circle does not recover this book…it'll only be a matter of time before Tranquility becomes the answer instead of a last resort. I do hope you understand."

"I will not lie," Aveline said decisively. "Knowing that the Mages will have this cure scares me. But…I do understand."

"Good," Hawke finally spoke, standing from her seat. "Then we'll make our way towards Ferelden."

"Thank you, Champion." Estra stood from her seat as well, extending her hand towards Hawke and then Aveline. "Let me just recover the text for you," she added, moving towards her bookcase to reveal a large, hidden compartment behind an array of books. Hawke and Aveline watched her with a growing concern, noticing how her movements became almost frantic in nature.

"Estra, what is it?"

"It's not here," the Mage replied, quickly shutting the compartment to scan the books on her shelf. "No, no, no. It's not here. It's not here!"

_SOMEONE STOP HIM! TRAITOR!_

Hawke and Aveline bolted out the door with Estra quickly following in suit. They noticed another Mage making haste down the hall, a small, wrapped bundle in his arms. Three mages followed him in pursuit, their hands lighting up in bright oranges and purples as they turned the corner and exited the warehouse. Hawke was quick to shadow them, unsheathing her sword as she sprinted down the hall and through the already open entry way. Aveline and Estra were beside her in moments, watching the spectacle that unfolded before them.

Estra extended her open palm and walked forward slowly, her voice was low and gentle. "Robin," she began, "come here, son. Give me the book."

"No," the mage replied, shaking his head furiously. "I'm sorry, Estra. But I can't let you give this to the Circle. It would be…it would be a huge mistake."

"Robin," Estra tried again. "You don't have to do this. Just give me the book and we can talk about this. You can tell me all about your concerns. We've always listened…"

"The Circle will destroy it," he blubbered out, his eyes brimming with frustration. "Too many of my friends have been lost to this! TOO MANY! This needs to go into hands that will research and create it. Under the Chantry's rule, the Circle will only drag this miracle into the mud. You know that the Templars will not allow this!"

"The Circle can help with this, Robin. They fear for the fate of Mages just as we do." Estra moved closer, the three other mages moving with her, slowly spreading out to improve the odds of retrieval.

"Yet they've done nothing but obey! STAY BACK," he spat. "I-I-I don't want to do this, please! Let me go, I know where I can take it!"

"Robin, please, let us just speak of this—"

"NO," Robin screamed, pushing the wrapped parcel into his pouch frantically. "You leave me no choice," he cried out, reaching behind his belt to retrieve a small blade. "There can be no more waiting. This has to be done."

"ROBIN, NO!" Estra stumbled forward, reaching out towards the young man in desperation. But it was too late. Robin held the blade to his forearm and sliced.

Hawke and Aveline watched in horror as the red poured from his limb and swirled around him like an angry cyclone. Two of the mages ran towards Robin in attack, lifting their staves and whispering spells that conjured orbs of bright mana into their hands. But the Blood Mage was quicker, lifting a bloody open palm and releasing a wave of blood and dark energy in their direction. One mage fell instantly; the other clutched her head and screamed. Her pitch was high and guttural as her body popped and transformed its posture into something more feral. Estra was still focused on Robin, her lips moving as she spoke out a spell. The Wild Apostate charged at Estra, still screaming and grabbing her head when Hawke called out towards the Elder Mage in alarm, lifting her sword and running in attempt to intercept it. Upon contact, the Apostate exploded in a gush of blood, innards, and energy, the force behind the blow sending everyone in the area flying.

Aveline was the first to stand again, rushing the Blood Mage with her shield and bashing him back to interrupt his next spell. Robin snarled and lifted both hands. Aveline screamed as she was lifted off of the ground then slammed down harshly onto its hard, cobble-stoned surface. Hawke called out for her companion, rushing to her side and lifting her sword to block an incoming blow. Robin's screech was ear-splitting then, and Hawke watched as he created several duplicates of himself, each forming a man-shaped shadow until a circle had been created around them.

Estra remained unmoving on the ground while the Blood Mage continued his assault. The last remaining Apostate shot at the duplicates frantically, his hand forming and throwing large balls of fire faster than Hawke could count. But when one of the shadow-men stuck its hand through the Apostate's chest, Hawke knew the outcome of this battle was no longer on their side.

Aveline got back to her feet with the help of Hawke and both women stood beside each other in a defensive pose. After what felt like years of battle, Hawke was the first to injure and fall. Her skin felt as if it was on fire—maybe it was. She watched Aveline shield her, bashing, blocking, and slicing through anything that neared the fallen warrior. When Aveline finally got knocked back, pushed harshly and thrown against a nearby wall, Hawke saw that it was done. She gazed over the small battlefield. Robin had become visibly weakened, but managed to continuously create shadows of his image, and the sheer amount of them starting to become too much to hold off.

Hawke jabbed her sword into the concrete and used it as an aid to stand. Her body ached and her legs felt as if they'd give out, but the Champion of Kirkwall was never one to give in easily. As the pack of Shadows fell on her, Hawke narrowed her eyes and shouted, running towards the conjuring Blood Mage in anger. She lifted her sword over her head and swung down, feeling as her blade crushed through skin and muscle. Robin squealed in pain, using an impulsion spell to toss the weary warrior away before sending a ball of dark energy in its wake. Hawke got onto her toes and fingers and flung herself to the side, crashing into a pile of rubble with a loud thud. Aveline could be heard softly through all the commotion but Hawke couldn't make out the words. Her ears rang and she could taste the bitterness of her own blood in her mouth.

Robin approached her quickly, his hand lifting into a fist. Hawke could feel her throat tighten as her body lifted off the ground. "I didn't want this," Robin snarled. "You forced me," he continued to yell. "There can be no half measures."

Those family words echoed in her ears and Hawke felt her eyelids begins to flutter shut when suddenly the heavens above them turned orange and bright balls of fire rained from the sky. The intensity of the light was momentarily blinding, and Hawke gasped for air as she was released and stumbled to find her footing. One by one each Shadow Man fell to magic, and Hawke had to cover her ears from the mixture of blasts and demon-like shrieks. It was only then that she noticed Robin looking down at his chest, a dagger sticking cleanly through his heart from his back. The blade was long, and thick blood trickled off of its tip into a small pool in front of his feet. Only when the Blood Mage fell limply to the side did he reveal the woman behind him.

She was tanned and voluptuous and smelled of the sea. But the Mage that had appeared next to the fallen body of Estra, the one who aided them with fire from the sky, was pale and handsome, a cat purring and sitting quietly at his feet.

"_Is anyone else in need of aid?"_

"_Sorry I'm late, Sweet-Thing_."

They spoke simultaneously and Hawke's jaw went slack as she gazed between both familiar people, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her mouth could not form the words while her heart beat wildly in her chest. Hawke's only comfort came in the form and blackness. Green eyes rolled up and back, her legs buckling beneath her.

Anders and Isabela. They were both alive.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment with your feedback if you can! Reviews are loved as they let me know how the story is going and/or if something doesn't make sense.


	17. Spirits and Promises

_A/N: Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors that you encounter as I am the only one who checks the document after writing it. I am by no means a writer, so if there is something that you see that breaks up the flow of the story and needs correcting, please feel free to PM me so I can fix it. Thank you!_

* * *

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 17: Spirits and Promises

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.

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Hawke's right cheek was burning. Aveline, in her infinite wisdom, had awoken the stunned Hawke with a slap and rough shake of the shoulders. And now, Hawke stood beside the ginger-haired woman with wide, questioning eyes. Aveline herself wasn't far from the same expression. Both warriors turned to each other before looking at the two individuals in front of them. To their right was Isabela, whose darting eyes and shrugging shoulders portrayed confusion, and to their left was Anders, whose confident posture did nothing to ease the questions on either woman's lips.

Isabela, who now looked beside and across from herself, suddenly pointed a finger with furrowed brows upon noticing the Grey-Warden Mage. "WANKER," she shouted accusingly.

Anders lifted his hands as the pirate marched up to him and jammed her stern finger into his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Anders was the cause of all of this turmoil, the catalyst that moved this Templar and Mage war forward. He was the reason why everyone was forced to flee, why everyone's life became so chaotic. "Demon-y-Ghost-Wanker-Undead-Man," Isabela accused again, her eyes squinting. "It must be burned," she whispered through a something of a wicked tone.

"Now w-wait a moment," Anders replied, his own eyes narrowing in return. He wasn't able to tell if Isabela was joking. Isabela wasn't sure either as she continued to poke and prod him.

"Hey!" Anders wrinkled his nose, taking another step back. "Take that finger o—"

"YOU," Aveline suddenly shouted, marching up to the pirate with an accusing finger of her own.

Isabela winced when she felt a sharp pinch on her arm. She rubbed the area tenderly, "What the balls, Big Girl. Can you not see this," she shouted, gesturing towards the blankly blinking Anders enthusiastically. "Undead Mage-y man! Why aren't you scolding _him_?"

The red-headed woman's burning gaze caused Isabela to fall silent. "I mourned you," Aveline said through a scowl, her eyes and voice exposing something much more than anger or confusion. "So help me, loose-lips, if this was one of your tricks…"

"Mourned me?" Before the pirate could continue to speak, Aveline reached out and wrapped the tanned woman in her arms, engulfing her in a tight hug.

Isabela froze under the motion until Aveline harshly pushed her away. That was more than enough affection to last both of them quite the while. "The first nip was for me," Aveline said before reaching in to quickly pinch the pirate again, this time on the tender area above her left breast. "And that's for Hawke."

Isabela winced and slapped the offending hand away with a frown. When Aveline then pointed her finger at Anders and marched off in his direction, Isabela's eyes fell on the silent warrior and a shock went through her system. Hawke was standing there motionless; her arms were folded softy across her chest as she tried to makes heads or tails of the situation.

It seemed that everyone had _a lot_ of catching up to do.

.* . * . *. *. * . *. *.

"Start from the beginning."

This room had grown too warm. A circle of chairs surrounded a small cooking pot at its center, and everyone sitting in them had grown uncomfortable, occasionally reaching to different areas of their clothing and tugging to let the cool air in. On one side of the circle sat Hawke and Aveline, and on the other side sat Anders. Isabela, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. A young woman, most likely in her early twenties, was standing behind the Grey Warden. Elise was her name, and her hand, a slender, delicate thing, was relaxed and draped over his shoulder tenderly. Hawke curiously watched the soft gesture and then looked Anders straight in the eye. He squirmed under her gaze and cleared his throat.

"The beginning. Right."

"The beginning," Aveline repeated. "You were dead. I saw the blade dig into the best of you. There's no way you could have walked away from that," she said suspiciously.

"Not dead," he said, lifting a finger into the air. "Dying. After Hawke…well, when she…did what she needed to…" Anders exhaled, needing to take a moment to find his words. Elise, who squeezed his shoulders consolingly, moved around to sit by him. She looked at both of the warrior women kindly. Hawke looked away.

"It's difficult for him," Elise explained. "When I found him he wasn't far from the Maker's door. Treating him was difficult and tedious, but in the end I managed to keep death away."

"So it was you?" Aveline watched the young woman, a mixture of anger and aggravation flicking across her face. Anders was not her favorite person, and the fact that he seemed to defy the odds made the Guardswoman purse her lips. For Aveline, the Mage got what he deserved those few years ago. His actions, no matter the intention, were not justifiable.

"She helped a great deal," Anders said quietly, looking at Aveline while stealing quick glances at the woman sitting next to her. "If it were not for her I would have died, yes. But it was Justice…Vengeance… he gave me time."

"Your spirit?" Aveline slightly leaned back in cautiousness. The idea of Justice made her tense. Anders was, in essence, an abomination of sorts. He was also a man, an angry man, with obsessive and passionate ideals. Mixing the two never boded well with Aveline, and after he destroyed the Chantry, her feelings towards him only became more concrete. He was dangerous.

"I felt myself slipping away," Anders said softly, staring into the flames of the fire when Hawke caught his gaze. "It was a strange feeling. There was a sharp pain at first and then…nothing. I remember my vision blurring, sharpening and then blurring again. I remember suddenly feeling very tired, as if I hadn't slept in months. When everything went black I thought that was it…but it wasn't. There was a light, a small light, and then there was Justice. I felt the Fade through him and was drawn in. He kept me there, safe and warm, speaking to me. It felt as if ages had gone by…"

"What did he say?"

"He said that his time with me had finally come to its end. And then…there was Elise. And Justice was gone. My anger subsided. He…perhaps he found his redemption. Or perhaps I found mine." Anders suddenly had this glazed look about him, as if he were actually reliving the moment.

The young mage nodded, placing her hand on his knee before looking back towards the two women. "I believe the spirit inside of him bought him time, helped him survive until someone came to administer aid." Anders nodded slowly as she spoke. "It's not unlike other benevolent spirits such as Mercy," Elise added upon noticing the great unease in Aveline. "Usually they keep to themselves, letting people do as they do…but sometimes, spirits are moved to do compassionate and empathetic acts. It's rare—but it does occur from time to time."

"So your Spirit is gone," Aveline asked. "You do a loathsome task and manage to think that it and you still somehow found redemption?"

Anders sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I know that you'll never understand why I did what I did. I completed what I sought out to do. I made the world see what was happening. I don't have to be angry now, I just have to fight. To finish what I started."

"A small group of mages and I were fleeing from the Templars when we stumbled upon him. I did what healing magic I could and then the others helped carry him to safety. I'm glad we did. He's revolutionary," Elise said, smiling gently at him. Aveline had to suppress the need to gag.

Hawke, who had been silent and still the entire time, finally stood from her seat. She had just about heard enough. "And what of the boy? Robin?"

Anders found himself sighing again, looking at Hawke through saddened eyes. "He…was one of my finest students."

Aveline stood up, her eyes narrowing. "He used blood magic! He almost had us killed. Is that your idea of _revolutionary?_"

"The boy took it too far," Anders replied, his tone still calm. "He was so enthusiastic, so hopeful for the future. I told him on several occasions that I agreed with the decision to send the book to the Circle. He always insisted otherwise."

"You?" Aveline questioned. "You agreed to send the book to the place you hate the most? Why?"

This time it was Anders who stood up and narrowed his eyes. "Despite what you think of me, I truly want a better future for all Mages. It has been and always will be my sole objective. The writing in that book is safer in the hands of the Circle Mages than in the hands of those who you have dubbed 'Rebels'. With this war in hand, the Circle now sees how the Templars are abusing the Rite and their powers against us—now, they are admitting it. They stand behind the cure. If we held such a powerful object, it would be ripped away and destroyed before our very eyes."

Hawke watched him, her expression unreadable. "And what is the cure _exactly_?"

"It…is a difficult concept to understand, but perhaps this discussion would best be suited for another time and place. It has been a long night for us all and you both still seem so skeptical. I would like the opportunity to ease your minds in helping us."

Elise helped him to his feet before nodding to the others. "He's weakened quite a bit in the absence of Justice, and this recent dispute has winded him."

Aveline rolled her eyes. "We almost die and she calls it a dispute. Lovely."

"It's alright," Anders said, accepting Elise's help but raising his hand to quiet the younger woman.

Elise's eyes grew wide, "But you're tired…"

"You want us to do all the dirty work, but feel privileged enough to keep us in the dark until you feel up for a talk?" Aveline shook her head. "Hawke asked a question, and I think we have the right to know the answer. Stop dancing around the details. What is the cure, exactly?"

Anders nodded his head. "I understand your concern and I even agree. But I think there's something you need to see first. There is something I want to make sure you understand."

Aveline's eyebrow rose. "What is it?"

"There's another bookcase in Estra's quarters on the West Wall. Meet me there first thing in the morning and I will show you."

Aveline opened her mouth to protest, but Hawke placed a gentle hand on the guardswoman's shoulder. Both women eyed the Mage briefly before nodding and walking towards the warehouse's exit.

"Marian?" It was Anders. Hawke's sharp gaze caught him off guard and he involuntarily took a step back. "…can we…if you're willing…talk later…?"

Hawke contemplated his words, her eyes piercing the man's soul without as much as a syllable in return. The only thing she could do was nod, and that was going to have to be enough.

.* . * . *. *. * . *. *.

Hawke had made her way out of the Imports warehouse wearily when her eyes fell on the shape of Isabela in the distance, standing still by the edge of the water. She walked over slowly, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. This feeling was a curious thing. Even after just visiting with Anders, Isabela was still the best thing that Hawke had seen in a very long time, and she had missed her dearly. "I knew I'd find you here," Hawke said as she walked towards the other woman.

"I'm that predictable, am I?" Isabela grinned as she looked out over the ocean and onto the setting sun. "This city has gone to shite. It's good to know there is at least one beautiful thing left," she said, gesturing out to the view. "The sight never gets old from he—"

Isabela gasped then, as if all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Hawke, in one swift movement wrapped her arms around the woman from behind as she approached, exhaling sharply on Isabela's shoulder as she rested her head there. The warm breath sent Isabela's skin into a fit of goose bumps. Isabela could feel her body tremble ever so slightly as Hawke squeezed just a little tighter.

"I thought you were dead," Hawke whispered, her voice coming out shaky and thick. "I thought you were dead and that I'd never see you again." Hawke released her then, only-just backing away to let the woman turn around. Isabela turned at her motion. When their eyes met, Hawke's filled up with tears that she struggled to keep from spilling over.

"Hawke, I'm alright. Honestly," Isabela said, smiling weakly and very nervously. It was difficult for her to gauge how to react under such delicate gestures.

Hawke's hands lifted to cup Isabela's face, and Isabela had to keep herself from tugging back in reaction. Hawke felt as if her blood were on fire when they touched, as if the Maker himself were sending a message to her. A smile, large and beautiful, crossed her lips when she finally lowered her hands. Isabela locked her knees to keep them from buckling. Hawke's smile, a strikingly beautiful thing tinged with a lick of wickedness, was something that always made the pirate want to turn to goo—an uncharacteristic but honest feeling that Isabela came to terms with long ago.

"But how…? The last time you—but an arrow was…!"

"Stuck in my tit, yes," Isabela chuckled, rolling her eyes. "You'll never have a guess at who it was that pulled my arse out of the gutter…"

Hawke shook her head in absolute cluelessness.

"Flynn and the boy," Isabela said softly. "I don't know what demon possessed them, but they did. I supposed I should be grateful for that, but Maker's balls they've rubbed me the wrong way, Hawke. It's been difficult having them aboard for the last few days."

"No matter," Hawke agreed, never letting her eyes or smile leave Isabela. "I'm glad they did. You're alive. You're alive," she repeated again, softer the second time to let it sink in.

"I am, you goose," Isabela nodded, her eyes trailing down towards the ground, feeling as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "And I see that Anders is too..."

Hawke felt a chill run up her spine.

"Anders? Oh, right…Anders. He is alive, yes."

"Maker, this night has got to be one of your best, yeah? Maybe I'll get you a drink later," she winked.

Hawke opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Anders _was_ alive. Hawke tried to speak again, not exactly knowing what to say about the situation. She had been involved with Anders, yes. She had grieved for him, yes. Hawke had taken a very long time to get over her lover and the act that supposedly sent him to his grave. But the situation between them had substantially changed since her last presence in Kirkwall. To be honest, Hawke had absolutely no idea where her and Anders stood as there was no closure when they had parted. Anders blew up the chantry, Hawke ran a dagger through him, and that…was that. But what of the bond that had formed between them? What of the promises that were made? Part of Hawke knew the answer very concretely, but the other half, the half that was plagued with guilt, needed to hear those answers from his lips.

"He wanted to speak with me," Hawke finally said, watching Isabela with gentle eyes.

Isabela chuckled as she brought her eyes back up to meet the others. "I bet. How'd the little ass do it anyways," she asked, walking over to take a seat on a nearby wooden crate. "He took a dagger the length of my leg and managed to get up?"

Hawke shook her head and made the woman move over with a bump of her bum. "I didn't realize your legs were so short."

"You know what I mean," Isabela smiled, nudging the woman back.

"He never really died," Hawke shrugged, looking out at the water. "A small group of mages found him before he bled out. They saved his life."

Isabela tilted her head and she examined Hawke's face. "You don't seem thrilled."

"I…don't know what I am," Hawke sighed. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about the situation. I mean, what am I supposed to say? Hey, Anders, I'm sorry I stabbed you, but no harm done! How about I buy you a pint and call it even?" Hawke looked over to Isabela then groaned. The pirate was nodding fervently.

"Well, it's better than the alternative."

Hawke raised her brow. "And what is the alternative?"

"Get it right the second time?"

The pair looked at each other in complete silence, their lips twitching before chuckling together softly. Hawke slapped the other woman on her thigh. "We're not supposed to laugh at that. He's Anders, remember?"

Isabela shook her head, "No, lovely. He was _your_ lover-undead-mage-y-man. He was never mine. I never even liked the sod. No offense."

"No offense taken," Hawke replied with another shrug. "He was a bit of a handful sometimes, wasn't he?" Hawke sighed again. "Oh well. We'll be leaving from here soon. Maybe tomorrow night? There's something we need to take to the Ferelden Circle and the sooner we get there the better it will be."

"Do we now? I didn't realize I was an accessory you dragged around! Then again, I always have been your human lock-pick, haven't I?"

Hawke looked over to Isabela with an inquisitive regard. "I d-didn't mean that you _have_ to come with me. I just thought…honestly, I don't know what I'm thinking now-a-days. Maker, ignore my babbling. You don't have to come if you don't—if it wouldn't please you."

"Easy, Hawke," Isabela laughed, hopping off the crate and turning to face the other. She wedged herself slowly between Hawke's legs and placed a hand on either thigh. Hawke could feel her cheeks grow hot.

"I'll go only if you promise to be good. Following you brings more trouble than I know what to do with and not nearly enough gold."

"But…what if I'm bad?"

"Even better." Isabela grinned. It was a mischievous and charming thing. "But don't worry; Lady Man-Hands won't let us be too horrible. Maker knows that she was put on this earth to ruin my good fun."

"Be nice," Hawke giggled. "She's had it really rough these last few years."

"And it's been a walk in the bloody park for us, Hawke?"

"Isabela," Hawke said with a shake of her head. "Donnic fell."

"What?" Isabela's eyes widened before she sighed and rubbed her face with the palm of both hands. She took a step back, whispering lightly to herself. "Balls…"

"I don't know the exact details. It's still fresh, I think."

"Is she alright," Isabela asked, looking at Hawke seriously after placing both hands on her hips. "Is my Big Girl alright?"

"I didn't think you'd be this upset, Isabela," Hawke said in surprise upon measuring Isabela's reaction.

"I am upset," she said firmly. "Who am I going to write my friend-fiction about now! And I have to burn my other stories so that she doesn't find them and throw herself into a dragon's nest!"

Hawke slapped a hand to her face and dragged it down slowly in aggravation. "Honestly, Isabela…"

"Fine," the pirate sighed. "I'll be on my best behavior."

"That still isn't very reassuring."

"I know," Isabela chuckled. "Isn't it delicious?"

Hawke felt her smile widen and she laughed, "I have to admit," she agreed, "I love you—IT. I love…" Hawke stuttered, not knowing what just happened. "Andraste's pyre," she groaned, covering her face with both hands. Love, like all other important things in life, sometimes steps in at a surprising and often mistimed occasion. Hawke had to resist the urge to retch. It would be lying if Hawke said that she never thought about how she was going to approach the subject. These feelings for Isabela had bloomed over the course of many, many months together on the open sea. It took root in the bed that they shared together, in the moments where Isabela taught Hawke to laugh again. It grew on the wet planks of Isabela's ship, twisting and digging itself deep into its lower decks until Hawke swore that the ocean itself was beginning to feel like home. Hawke had thought about this, yes, but it now seemed that her heart grew tired of not making itself known, of dancing around that blooming seed until all that was left were three words that crumbled on her lips.

"I love you…"

Hawke felt as if though her heart were going to fall straight out of her ears, mouth, or butt. She couldn't tell which. Her word vomit had struck again only this time it was involuntarily and no longer in a position to cover or take back. Panic began to rise as she watched Isabela who couldn't seem to move or speak. Rather, the pirate opted to just stand there, a look of surprise and…_something _on her face_. _Hawke's chest heaved. When did the air get so thick? When did it become hard to breath? Why was it so hot? Could your heart really fall out of your butt?

"Please don't run…" Hawke whispered, her eyes pleading with the other woman. "We can just drop it here if you'd like. We don't have to talk about it. You don't have to say a _single thing," _Hawke blabbered on. "You can just turn right around and walk straight back into the warehouse. I'm sure Aveline needs help with something—or you could even show her your friend fiction," she continued in mock excitement, rambling like a mad woman. "She might even like it! Or…or…"

Aveline, who had seen Hawke flailing madly in the distance, walked up to the pair of women cautiously. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?"

Isabela, who could only listen until now, turned to Aveline, pulled out the self-written friend fiction from her pack, and shoved it at the red-head's chest. "Hawke said you should read that."

Aveline took the stack of parchments and read the title in surprise, "Aveline and Donnic: Naughty Guards 2. _Isabela,_" she warned. "This is a _part two?"_

But the pirate was already too far gone, standing there in front of the crumpling woman with an unreadable expression. So, in a tiny act of courage, Isabela began to chuckle. Hawke looked at the woman with saddened eyes, not knowing what to make of it.

Isabela sighed, placing her hands on her hips again before shrugging at Hawke with a sign that was a little clearer to decipher—a smile, small, but encouraging.

"What's so funny?" Aveline asked, looking at both women curiously.

Isabela wrapped her arm around Aveline and brought the woman close, tapping on stack of papers in amusement. "Nothing is funny, Big Girl. But you should really get to page thirty before we leave tomorrow night."

Hawke heart jumped at the words. "…so you're coming with us?"

"Of course," Isabela said, the grin never leaving her lips. "Where else would I go?"

Aveline nudged the woman away but didn't give the friend-fiction back. "You could go anywhere, really."

"Admit it," Isabela cooed, making kissy lips at the red-head. "You'd miss me. Say it. You'd miss these legs."

Aveline felt her upper lip curl in distaste. "Your legs, no. But you…"

Isabela leaned in with an impish smirk. "But me what?"

"…maybe. Sometimes. Rarely. Once a year on an off day."

Isabela's smirk widened, "That's my Big Girl. Come on. Let's go, all three of us. It's getting dark out here and I'm starving. I want whiskey."

"When don't you want whiskey?"

"I don't want whiskey when I want rum."

Aveline sighed. "Of course."

"Of course," Isabela echoed, taking each woman under one of her arms as they walked back towards the warehouse together. They both looked at Hawke expectantly.

Hawke could feel a smile, small and sheepish under the confident grin of her pirate form. "…of course."

Isabela hugged the two of them to her tightly and Aveline groaned as she was squished. Hawke, on the other hand, was very content. Isabela didn't run; she chose to stay and, better yet, wanted to continue on their journey together. Hawke felt her smile grow. Isabela's response to the woman's passionate stammer was difficult to measure. It was a vague and mysterious response at best, but still, Hawke saw promise in it. And as the trio walked quietly back towards the imports warehouse, Hawke felt Isabela's fingers squeeze her shoulder just a little harder.

Yes, there was promise indeed.

* * *

_A/N: A very large thank you goes out to all the WONDERFUL reviews, questions, PM's, favorites, and follows. I can't tell you all how encouraging it is to see that people still enjoy this story. I LOVE seeing what you all think is going to happen both here and in Inquisition. I have so many theories floating around my head about where everything is leading, and I love discussing these ideas with other fans of this wonderful game. If you can, please drop a review and comment! Thank you all again and I'll see you next time._


	18. Moving Forward

_A/N: Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors you encounter as I am the only one who checks the document after writing it._

* * *

"Can we talk?"

"It's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Anders fidgeted. "I just didn't expect that this would feel so…"

"…strange?"

"I suppose that could be the word for it. It's still me, Hawke. I'm still the same old Anders."

Hawke watched Anders with troubled eyes. "…but I'm not the same old Hawke."

"I know that. I knew that the moment I first saw you again."

Anders and Hawke stared at each other in silence. His private quarters were dimly lit as the morning had only just started to rise. A small candle flickered violently in the corner of the room, making playful shadows on the wall. The Mage chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck when Hawke watched him expectantly. No matter how awkward, there was no going back now.

"I guess we're really going to get into this, aren't we?"

"You're the one that asked me to be here, Anders. So yes, I should think that we really are."

* * *

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 18: Moving Forward

.

.

.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm not angry with you. I don't blame you for what happened to me. I'm actually kind of glad it was you, in a way." Anders had to smile then, small and nervous. "Had I died, it would have given me somewhat of a poetic ending, don't you think?"

Hawke's brows lowered into a deep furrow. "No. No, I don't bloody think. My attempt at ending your life was somehow romantic to you? Are you fucking mad, Anders?"

Anders blinked, waving his hand at her misunderstanding. "Hawke, I was trying to lighten the mood. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any hurt by it…"

"Well, it wasn't funny and it certainly didn't lighten the mood. If anything," Hawke continued, her voice rising just a bit, "it was selfish to say. Didn't you ever think about the person you were leaving behind? Didn't you ever stop to wonder about what it would be like for the person that had to put a period at the end of _your _sentence?"

"Hawke…"Anders reached out for Hawke, slowly testing the waters. She shrugged the hand away.

"It was _torture_, Anders." Hawke could feel the wetness form in the corners of her eyes. She never realized how angry she still was with him. "I had nightmares night after night for over a year. A year, Anders! I kept reliving that same bloody moment over and over until either sickness or sleep took me."

"I'm sorry," Anders said again, softer than before. His eyes trailed to the floor.

"I was so committed to you," Hawke whispered, thinking back to their years before the Chantry fell. "We made such promises to each other and I held onto those promises for a very long time. The thought of all of those sweet words you told me? They got me through the worst of my terrible moments…but what you did, what you went on to do…what you forced my hand to finish?"

"I don't know what else to say, Hawke. Tell me what you want me to say and I will say it." The Mage's expression fell into sadness. "I told you that I'd only end up breaking your heart. It broke mine to do it. I loved you more than anyone. I love you still and will always continue to. Yet, you have to understand…"

Hawke wiped her eyes and roughly exhaled, looking over to him with somewhat of a sterner gaze. "That your precious rebellion meant more? I don't have to understand anything else, Anders. It took me a very long time to realize that I always came second to your damned plot."

Anders shook his head. "It was never that simple and you know that, Hawke. What is happening now—what happened then was so much greater than the two of us. What I did had to be done."

Hawke smiled sarcastically, looking towards the ocean beyond the window's glass. "Then we will just have to agree to disagree."

"Disagree? You sided with us, Hawke! You helped bring the Knight-Commander down because you know that the way Mages are treated is unethical! Think of Bethany for Maker's sake!"

Hawke slammed her hand onto a nearby table and looked at Anders angrily. "You don't _dare_ bring her into this conversation. Don't you dare use my sister as an example to justify what you've done to both the Chantry and us! Bethany would have never gone to such lengths. She is good and kind. She would have found a better way—not a desperate one. I brought Meredith down because the woman was crazed by the lyrium idol we found in the deep roads. I brought the Knight-Commander down because there was no other action to take!"

"Listen, I'm not looking to make Meredith or Bethany a bloody excuse! Damn it, Hawke, I was looking to make a point!"

"You made your point a long time ago, Anders! And it had nothing to do with either of those women or me. Everything that we worked towards, everything you asked for help with, it all led up to your damned manifesto or plot, and everyone had to pay the price for that," Hawke held. "It wasn't just your life and mine. It was _everyone._"

"Oh, tiff on that," Anders spat, pacing around the room for a moment. "I didn't want it to turn out how it did, but I understood what the consequences of my actions could have been!"

Hawke leaned over the table, her face contorted in both hurt and anger, "You are just so damned _selfish _in every imaginable way! You've been alive for nearly two years now and not _once_ did you think to contact me?" Hawke grunted, throwing her hands up in disbelief upon seeing the Mage's unmoved visage. "Do you even realize how far this chaos has spread, or acknowledge the fact that you left me alone thinking that I murdered the love of my bloody life? You are such a damned… _wanker_!"

Anders felt his eyebrows fly up. Apparently Isabela had rubbed off on the woman more than even he knew. "…are you done?"

Hawke, who was now well worked up, shook her head vigorously and slashed at the air with an open palm. "No, I am not done! Don't ask if I'm done! I'll tell you when I'm done, you….you—"

Anders sighed. "–go on, get it out."

"—you dingle-berry eating butt-fister!"

"Wow," Anders said, not knowing what else he could. "Isabela taught you that, I'm assuming?"

Hawke exhaled deeply before taking a large inhale and nodding her head vigorously, her face still red from the emotional outburst.

"I guess I do deserve that," he said lowly. "I am selfish, Hawke. But what would you have done? Be honest with yourself. Everyone wanted justice for what I did. Sebastian threatened to bring a vast army into Kirkwall to seek you out had you not tried to end me! So, it was better for everyone to think that you had…yourself included. I'm sorry," he said again, taking a step closer to her when he noticed she didn't move away. Hawke could only lower her gaze as her eyes threatened to now spill tears. She felt as if she no longer had the energy to move.

"I'm sorry I didn't send word to you. I'm sorry that this is how you had to find out. I'm sorry that I caused you so many sleepless nights and terrors. I'm sorry, love," Anders whispered, moving forward until he stood before Hawke. Hawke's breath became heavy when he lifted her chin so that her eyes could meet his on softer ground. Her skin broke into gooseflesh when Anders gently placed a hand on her hip and brought their bodies so close that their chests pressed together.

"Anders," she said quietly, unable to look away from those forgiving, hazel eyes. Hawke remembered this feeling all too well; it was a warm comfort being wrapped in his arms, his eyes boring into her as his lips twitched into a smug but loving smile. He smelled lightly of sweat and soap, a scent all too familiar with the weakening warrior. She was drowning in his presence, and Hawke couldn't quite tell if she was unable to move away or unwilling.

"Tell me how to make it better," Anders said softly. "I've missed you so, Hawke. Regardless of what has happened or what you've called me, I still love you, more now than ever before. I don't want us to argue like this. I want to move forward, so please," he beckoned, grazing their lips together when he lifted her off of the floor and placed her softly on the nearby table, "let it be in the past."

Hawke tilted her head, leaning forward to let the Mage move in for a kiss. Yet, when she closed her eyes the only things Hawke could see were flashes of honey-colored orbs looking back at her. Quickly, she put a hand out and halted the advancing mage by pressing against his chest and gently pushing him back. "I agree. Let this," Hawke said delicately, gesturing between the two of them, "be in the past."

Anders moved his face back and looked into the warrior's eyes. He sighed again, looking down while also moving back to a distance that allowed Hawke to have her personal space again. "I somehow knew you'd say that. But it was worth a try, wasn't it? I really have missed you, Hawke…"

Hawke removed herself from the table slowly, gathering her composure in the process. "It's hard for me to know what to feel, if I'm going to be honest about this. I've already grieved for you and allowed myself to move on. I wouldn't know how to return to this even if I tried. All that seems to remain between us is remnants of frustration."

The words being said aloud made Anders cringe.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said genuinely, tenderly. "But I can't lie about this and pretend to go back to the way things were."

"Then why did you agree to come here?" His tone wasn't antagonizing or even upset. Anders, against his own heart's wishes, was genuinely curious.

"I came here this morning because it all ended so suddenly and badly between us, and then unexpectedly there you were again, standing in front of me like none of it ever happened. I suppose I just needed the closure," Hawke considered tentatively. "I needed to hear what you have to say. I needed to know what I would say back."

Anders nodded his head in thought, his eyes falling on hers fondly. Hawke noticed an extreme sadness behind his hazel gaze. "I'm sorry that I wasn't better to you," he said. "I wish I knew how to be."

Hawke offered him a smile, small and weak. "Perhaps all of this ended as it should have," she said quietly. "I think what you needed in a partner was something different than what I had to offer."

"And what would that something be, Hawke?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "If I knew the answer then maybe this story would have been very different. All I know is that what you need is something that I don't have. Elise, however, might," Hawke continued, almost as an afterthought.

Anders felt his cheeks grow hot. "Elise? No," he muttered. "I don't think I could."

Hawke considered the Mage for a moment before nodding her head and making towards the door. "I'll see you later today in Estra's room. Goodbye, Anders."

"Goodbye," he replied, his voice thick and heavy. "Hawke?"

"Yes?"

"Could you ever love me again, in even the slightest possibility?"

When the warrior opened her mouth, a seemingly hesitant look on her face, Anders spoke out. "Just humor me," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "This is also worth a shot."

"…you were the very first person I ever really loved. There will always be something between us—good and bad alike. But no," Hawke finally said, exhaling quietly as she did so. "I don't think I could ever love you the way you want me to, not again."

"I…understand. Thank you for coming by to see me."

Hawke only nodded her head before turning the latch to his bedroom and quietly making her way out of the hall and towards her own quarters where both Isabela and Aveline waited.

*-o-*-o-*-o-*-o-*

"You're really going to lecture me on _my _writing? You're going to sit there and tell _me_ how _my_ friend fiction should end?"

"Oh calm yourself, you tart, I am only suggesting a few edits."

"No, you're suggesting that the sex isn't good enough! You're saying that I, Isabela, did not write something up to your satisfaction! That's shit, Big Girl, and you know it. Nobody writes good sex like I do—_nobody_."

Aveline shrugged noncommittally, flipping through a few pages of the parchment stack with an unimpressed appearance. "It could have been better in a few spots."

"What—no! Look," Isabela growled, snatching up her friend fiction and rummaging through its pages until she found the passage she was looking for. "You're telling me that _this_ isn't good? Have you no imagination? This is gold. This is sexy gold, pure and simple."

Aveline rolled her eyes and pretended to look at something more interesting on the wall. "I don't need to imagine it when it was something done regularly in my marriage."

Isabela's eyes widened. "What? _All of it?_ Even the last bit where you put your legs like this and he puts his bits like that? Then the both of you did this until he could do that while you did this?"

"Even the last bit. Three times."

"Nooo," Isabela said, drawing out the word in skepticism. "You?"

"Me."

"I don't believe it."

"You don't have to."

"Prove it," Isabela said, her eyes narrowing.

Aveline felt her eyes roll again, looking at the pirate with something that could resemble mirth. "Isabela, I know you're daft in the attic and full of crabs in the cellar, but can you really be _that _slow? How am I supposed to prove it?"

Isabela got to her feet and pointed to the floor. "You'd be limber if you did that last bit three times frequently. So you get into that position and I'll pretend to be the man. I need to see it for myself."

Aveline looked to the point where Isabela pointed to the floor before looking back up to meet her eyes. "No."

"Oh, we're doing this," the pirate threatened, popping her neck and back.

"No, we're not."

"You can't do it, can you? I knew it!"

"Oh," Aveline chuckled, "I can do it. I just won't do it with you."

Hawke walked in then, her eyes darting back and forth between both women. "I'm not even going to ask."

"Good. Don't." Aveline said, watching as Hawke stretched out on the bed, groaning before hiding her face underneath her feather-stuffed pillow.

"Was it that bad," she asked, her brow arching in amusement.

"I don't know what it was," Hawke mumbled. "But it's done."

"Done is a good thing," Aveline nodded, considering her companions statement. "It may not always seem as such at first, but that'll come in time. I know he meant a lot to you, Hawke. I'm sorry that all of this happened."

Hawke sighed, removing the pillow from her face. "You don't have to apologize, but thank you. I suppose this means I can just continue forward, right? Forward is good. I want to go forward with both of you and away from _this_."

"Forward is good," Aveline agreed with certainty. "Approaching everything face-forward is always a good method."

"I don't know, Big-Girl," Isabela chuckled. "I've heard that letting things approach you from behind can be good too. But then again, you would already know that, right?" Isabela pointed to the same passage in her friend fiction aggressively. "_Right_!?"

"Oh get off of it, whore." Aveline scowled at the pirate before getting to her feet and walking towards the door. "I'm going to go check in on Brennon at the Viscount's Keep. After what she did for us I want to make sure she's well. I'll be back late this afternoon, and Anders better be ready for us by then."

When the door clicked softly behind the woman, Isabela looked over at the very silent warrior lying on the bed. The pirate approached slowly, taking a seat beside Hawke and turning to face her. Isabela felt her stomach flip as their eyes locked. "Are you alright, Sweet-Thing?"

"I called Anders a dingle-berry eating butt-fister."

Isabela's lips spread into the largest smile Hawke had seen in months. The pirate chuckled warmly, tossing her head back in amusement before releasing a sound in a decrescendo. "Oh, that's brilliant."

Hawke smiled, small but genuine at the motion. "I shouldn't have done it. I feel bad about doing it, but besides that, I think I'm fine. How are you?"

"Why would you ask? These Mages are stocked to the brim with whiskey and rum, and I'm back with you and the world's most manly woman. What could be better?"

Hawke chuckled and looked up to the ceiling of her bedroom. The wood was old and cracking. It reminded Hawke of an old ship's deck. "Knowing you, I could probably name a few things: sailing, sweet-cakes, sex…am I on the right track?"

Isabela felt her eyebrow tick in interest. "Maker blesses you, Hawke. Calling Anders names? Having aforementioned cravings? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're starting to turn into a sailor. What have I done?"

Hawke turned back to look at Isabela and smiled again, involuntarily this time. "Maybe I am. Would that bother you?"

Isabela looked down at her legs and sighed when she noticed the look in the warrior's eye. "Hawke…I've the feeling that we should talk. Should we talk?"

The warrior raised her hand. "We don't have to, if that's what you want. This doesn't have to get weird between us. It doesn't have to change anything."

"It doesn't have to, no," the pirate shrugged, moving to straddle Hawke, leaning forward until her face hung only inches above the others, a hand placed on either side of Hawke's shoulders. Wrinkles on the warrior's forehead formed when she glared, eliciting a throaty laugh from the woman on top of her.

"You said nothing had to change. I do this to you all the time. So tell me, Hawke, what is it that you're looking for?"

Hawke squint her eyes at the witty pirate. "What do you want me to look for?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that answering a question with a question is bad manners?"

"Isabela," Hawke groaned, wiggling underneath the woman's regard. "I'm already a tad insecure about this as it is. And you're being very vague and confusingly calm about all of it."

"I've known you for going on seven or eight years, Hawke. Would you rather that I flail on top of you, screaming like a woman possessed?"

"No," Hawke scoffed. "Of course not, but I know that you've said that you're not the kind to commit to a relationship—not that I'm not even asking you to. Though it's far from what I'm used to, I would understand the need for you to keep your lifestyle. I do not wish you to think that I want to impose on your freedoms. I don't want to make you uncomfortable around me because of something I said or feel. I would rather you be at ease with me as we've always been together. That's important to me."

It was Isabela's turn to roll her eyes at the rambling Hawke. Watching the woman flap her mouth in uncertainty was unappealing, and just as Hawke took another breath to continue, Isabela leaned forward to bring her lips against the others in a soft, honest kiss. She took Hawke's lower lip and nibbled before letting her tongue poke out to soothe it. Hawke whimpered having been caught unprepared, her body instinctively arching into Isabela's touch, more so now that the woman was on top of her. Anders was no long in her mind, and the guilt that came with his image seemed to suddenly vanish into the afternoon air. Hawke's lips, which were previously reserved for the Mage, now seemed to find their perfect fit with Isabela, who grinned into Hawke's second, more aggressive kiss. "I'm not afraid of you, Hawke," Isabela breathed, moving her face back just enough to determine the woman's expressions. "Listen, I don't know what you or I will become with any of this. I don't wish to place a label on anything that we do together. What I do know is that I rather enjoy being around you. Farther than that, I see no difference between us now as I did all of those years ago. Regardless of who you were seeing, we've always flirted, I've always tried to get into your knickers, and we've always stuck together in the hardest of times—even when I was an idiot and left. I don't see how that would change."

Hawke's half-lidded gaze lowered, her reddened, swollen lips finally parting to speak. "I've never thought of it in that way...but how can you be so certain?"

"I'm not certain about anything but this, Sweet-Thing," Isabela said, taking one of the woman's hands and placing it on high her own bare thigh. Marian's possessiveness kicked into gear and her hand naturally squeezed the thick muscle, pulling the pirate roughly into herself. Isabela let out an appreciative groan and bit her lip, "See? That's my girl." Isabela made her point very clearly. Much to even their surprise, the pair of women had always been in rhythm, responding naturally to each other.

"I…care deeply for you, Hawke."

Hawke relaxed then, letting her head fall back onto the pillow so she could gaze up at the beautiful woman who struggled so completely to find her words. It was endearing and Hawke couldn't help the chuckle that left her lips. This caused Isabela to frown. "That's funny, is it?"

"No, it's not funny at all."

"So you're giggling like a school girl why?"

"Because, I just want you to know that I don't expect you to act on my words or even return them. I just wanted you to know how I felt. After all this time and everything that you've done for me, I think you deserved to hear it. I'm in love with you," Hawke said out loud, because she knew that this was a life-changing thing and life-changing things should be said aloud, should have their own moment in time and a place in the air to make them tangible. And it was a certainty, Hawke realized, as things are which you don't think, but discover have always existed. "Somewhere between then and now I fell in love. And that's the honest truth," Hawke shrugged matter-of-factually.

The air tightened to a drum skin and all Isabela could see was Hawke smiling up at her. All Isabela could feel was a warm, calloused palm caressing her cheek before moving down to her neck, shoulder, and forearm. "Or maybe I've just been drunk a _very_ long time. Either way, with that said," Hawke chuckled, watching as Isabela snapped out of the private moment, "off with you. We have things that still need to get done today. If we don't head to Estra's room soon we'll be late. The last thing I need right now is Aveline wagging her finger at me."

"I see how this is," Isabela sighed, getting off of the woman so that she could stand and fix her garments. "Kiss me, pour your heart out, and then swat me away when you're done?"

"That's where you're wrong," Hawke winked, fixing her corset and leather pants. "Who said that I was done?"

Isabela grinned shamelessly, watching as Hawke adjusted herself. Her brow ticked, liking what she saw. "…tease."

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_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has followed or placed this story in their favorites, and thank you to everyone for all of those great reviews! Please keep them coming, I love seeing what people have to say about either the story or their thoughts on what Inquisition is going to feature! Also, if you saw any story-breaking errors, please PM me so that I can fix it. Thanks again! Till next time.  
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	19. Ann

_A/N: As per usual, please forgive any mistakes you see as I am the only one who checks the document after writing it!_

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Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 19: Ann

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"Alright," Aveline sighed, pacing back and forth in front of Estra's door. "Where the blight is he? He's late."

Hawke was leaning against a wall, continuously glancing outside a nearby window to check the position of the sun. It had already passed from late afternoon into the early hours of the evening, and Anders was still nowhere to be seen. "He told us to be here, so he'll show up."

Isabela groaned and slid down into a sitting position on the wooden floor boards, bringing her legs up so that her arms could rest on them. "What was it that he wanted to show us? Why couldn't he just give us the damned book so we could be on our way?"

"I'm not sure," Hawke replied. "Apparently there's something we need to see."

"There is," Anders said, walking down the hall with a small, orange cat at his feet. He stopped in front of Estra's office and revealed a key that opened the door. "I'm sorry that I'm late. My visit with Estra took longer than expected. Please, come in."

Hawke nodded as she passed through the now open doorway. "How is she doing?" The orange tabby rubbed itself firmly against her boots and Hawke looked at it with a small, curious smile.

"Estra will be fine," Anders answered before he walked over towards the bookcase that he mentioned earlier, reaching behind a stack of books to yank on a short, old lever. He backed up swiftly, watching as the case pushed forward from the wall and then remained motionless. Pushing the bookcase revealed a short, dark hallway that led into a set of descending, spiral stairs. Anders grabbed a nearby torch and began walking down the passageway. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me and Francis, it's only a short walk down this way."

"_Francis_?" Isabela mouthed, looking at the tabby and then Aveline with an arched brow. The warrior could only shrug.

Calloused fingertips ran themselves against the cold stone of the passage walls. The gentle flicker of the torch was the only thing Hawke could see in front of her, so she had to extend her hand to trace the walls in order to feel steady. "Where are we going, Anders? It's so dark."

"About a year ago we discovered this passage in Estra's room. The warehouse used to use it as a means to escort exceptionally high quality goods, important individuals, or store gold and rare items from valuable costumers. It leads to a small, hidden entrance to the east of the bay—right outside of Kirkwall."

Aveline's eyebrows shot up. "Is that how you've been getting Mages in and out of the city?"

Anders stopped then, turning to meet the eyes of those that followed him. "It is. Or, it was. The Templars started to finally catch on, realizing that there must be an entrance other than the docks. Small patrol boats roam the coast day in and out, searching for what they know is there but cannot find. Aveline," he paused, turning his attention to the ex-guard in specific, "I trust that you will speak to no of this…correct?"

"I neither offer nor owe you any promises."

Anders shook his head and turned to continue down the path. Upon reaching the descending stair case, Anders kneeled down to find a hidden, unlit torch. After lighting it, he passed down to the last person in line. "I knew you'd say that. Watch your step as we go down—sometimes the stairs can be slippery."

Hawke extended her hand. "Wait. You knew Aveline would find cause in telling the Guard of this, yet you brought us down anyways? Why?"

"Most Templars check cargo before they allow any ship to go. So, this is the entrance you'll be using to get away with the book. However, I would have you know that this passage serves as not only a means for entering and leaving, it's also where we hide and shelter prisoners of this war—civilian and Mage alike. We offer aid to those who have managed to escape the unjust hands of the Templar."

Aveline stopped. "You're hiding prisoners and that's supposed to keep me from telling the Guard?"

"You say Prisoner as if they've committed a crime. Aveline, the people who take refuge in these tunnels are men, women, and their families—mages who have magic, but have never done anything wrong. Most of them are farmers, merchants, fishermen, smiths—not bloodmages, murderers, or thieves. We have civilians who have been committed for Mage-Sympathy—others who were taking prisoner simply because they looked a certain way."

"Where do you keep all of them," Isabela asked, curious in his cause.

"We've turned the old cargo-holding area into a place suitable for staying. Estra has managed to supply beds, food, medical herbs, and quilts until the time comes for them to sneak out of Kirkwall."

"Anders," Aveline said firmly, "how do you know that those you help aren't bad? How do you know they aren't bloodmages, thieves, or murderers?"

When the stairs finally ended, the group came upon a large clearing lit by both cooking fires and torches alike. Children played quietly together while small groups of adults banded together to chat or help cook for the small mass of refugees hidden beneath the earth.

"Do these look like thieves, murderers, and bloodmages, Aveline? The Templars raided their houses, took or destroyed everything they owned. What they've made down here is a community that strives to help one another seek something better than this. They've done no wrong. If you tell the Guard of this place, there will be nothing I can do for them any longer."

"What say you, Aveline?" Hawke watched her companion with soft eyes. "I respect what you have to say. If something about this feels wrong to you we _will_ go. The same goes for you Isabela, if—"

After the pair turned to regard their pirate friend, they found Isabela had already wandered off. She was found kneeling down and smiling in the distance, talking to a little girl and pretending to take interest in the toy that was being showed to her. When Isabela looked up and found she was being stared at, she waved and shrugged, lifting the toy horse up and pulling on its tail so that the mouth chomped. Hawke couldn't help but smile. Aveline, however, only sighed. "I suppose Isabela has spoken louder on the subject than I ever could. I will not say anything to the Guard."

"Thank you, that makes me happy to hear," Anders said softly. "However, there is still something else I want you to see. It's just down this way."

Hawke called for Isabela before turning to follow Anders down a shorter hallway. The room they entered was small and within it was a space separated by wall-high bars. It seemed that this was the room the warehouse managers used for holding rare goods. Still, Hawke had to inch closer upon hearing soft ramblings and scribbles. She took the torch from Anders and lifted it to the bars, squinting to try and make out what it was hunched in the corner.

"_We can't do that, no we can't. It would be bad. They would get angry! I don't like it when they're angry because they don't let me write in my journal or the man with the big sword comes to my room at night. I don't like either option. Maker help me, Maker help him, Maker, Maker, Maker. I have to write in my journal otherwise I can't sleep. Oh, do I have new visitors?" _

It was a young woman, Hawke noticed.

Anders smiled softly at the woman being kept behind bars before unlocking the door to her space. "This is Ann, the librarian's assistant from Hightown. Ann, these are my friends Hawke, Isabela, and Aveline."

Ann couldn't have been past the age of 25, Hawke thought. She was skinny but seemingly kept clean. It was her eyes, however, that threw Hawke off. Her eyes, a dark, chocolate brown, were almost crazed. Ann had deep bags and messy hair and fingernails. The dress that she was wearing was worn and torn in some places, but overall still in decent condition. Her "space" comprised of a bed and several stacks of parchment, inks, and quills.

Anders opened the door slowly and stepped in. Ann threw herself at him and hugged him tightly before gasping in horror and pushing him away. "Where is the warmth? You're not warm anymore! How did you change it? I want it back,"Ann yelled, causing Isabela to move forward, "give it to me!"

"Ann, we've talked about this, remember?"

"_No, no, no, no, no, no…"_

Isabela shook her head, watching as the poor woman sat back in her corner and faced the wall, hunching over while madly scribbling on parchment. "Anders, what's wrong with her?"

The Mage took the torch from Hawke before walking over towards Ann. "Ann, why don't you say hello to your new friends properly? You don't want to be rude, do you?"

"_Rude? What? Never. Never be rude, my mother always told me. It's bad manners." _Ann stood up quickly, swiveling around and pushing herself into the bars, her hand extended out to the three of them. "_Hi. Hello. Greetings. I'm Ann. This is my room. Won't you come in?"_

Anders lifted the torch closer to Ann's face and Hawke found herself stepping back in horror. The woman's forehead was red, peeling, and scabbed from a deep, magical marking that was placed there.

"She's Tranquil! But she's not acting as a Mage usually does upon having the Rite done to them."

Anders nodded, exhaling heavily. "That's because she was never a Mage to being with. Her _mother_ was a Mage who never entered the circle. She was a single woman with no family and one child. When the Templars learned what she was doing, the raided her home. Ann was discovered studying a few magical texts her mother owned and was also deemed a dangerous Mage. Both of them were made Tranquil within the week without a hearing or assessment."

Aveline, whose mouth had remained open, suddenly shook her head in disbelief. "That can't be so. They made a non-Mage Tranquil? I didn't even know that was possible."

Anders nodded his head. "I didn't ever think of it so I never considered it as something that could be done. The Chantry teaches us that everyone has an association with the Fade, Aveline, whether that is through their dreams or a Mage's connection through magic or lyrium—everyone at one point or another meets or passes through. The Dalish have _Uthenera_, where they say the body may remain in the mortal world, but their mind or spirit travel past the Veil. No matter how the connection is made, it is always there in sorts. When they took that from Ann…she lost something. And she's not the first non-Mage to suffer this on '_accident'_ either."

Hawke slowly extended her hand and shook Ann's still offered hand. "Could it be that magic ran through her after all? Even the slightest hint of it?"

"I don't know. It's possible. But in making her Tranquil she seems to have lost herself." Anders knelt down to retrieve a few of her scribbles. "She writes broken words and strange symbols day in and out, mumbles about her treatment under the Templar's watch, or tells us stories."

"How did you get her out of their hold," Isabela asked, unafraid as she moved into the cell to kneel by the younger woman, watching as she scribbled madly.

"We didn't. The Templars received order to throw her out before the Lord Seeker arrived to oversee the progress they've made on the war. One of my students found her wandering the streets half naked and rambling, trying to find something she couldn't remember. They brought her here afterwards." Anders pinched the area between his eyes. "The Rite is being used as a weapon rather than a last resort now. Mages underneath its effects are unable to withhold information. However, because we have a cure close at hand, the Templars are using whatever measure necessary to make this book's location known."

Isabela ignored Anders and smiled at Ann, looking at the symbols she made all over her pieces of parchment. "You like telling stories? I like telling stories too."

Ann paused and looked up towards the pirate with some semblance of a smile. Anders eyebrows flew up. "I haven't seen her do that since she's been here."

Isabela took Ann's quill and drew a funny looking face on her parchment. The young woman watched with wide eyes and giggled softly. "Maybe that's because you're treating her like evidence for your war instead of a human being. She doesn't deserve to be caged up like this, Anders."

Ann took the quill from Isabela and mimicked drawing what Isabela showed her, pleased at the outcome. "Stories make me happy. I like books. I like reading books. My favorite story is about the Sun and the Moon. It's sad but nice."

"I've never heard about a story for the sun and moon," Isabela said, watching the young woman curiously. "Why is it sad?"

"There are many stories of the sun and moon. My mom, she told many stories of them. Most of them were about great love."

"How could it be about great love? Who loved them?"

"You're silly," Ann smiled, scratching off the funny face before drawing more odd symbols. "How can it not be a story about great love? Even though they could never be together, the Sun loved the Moon so much he chose to die every night to let her breathe."

Isabela found herself smiling. "What a beautiful notion. Your mother must have been a great story teller."

"Anders," Hawke asked, "why do you have her kept here, separated?"

"She makes the others nervous. They see the symbol on her forehead and how she rants and rambles and it makes them uneasy with the children around. Also, if something bothers her enough, she can be prone to violent outbursts—hitting and scratching and what not."

Parchment, now fully scribbled on, was pushed into Isabela's hands and she looked at it in confusion. "How are you helping her?"

"We're not. We can't. Not without a cure. All I can do is make her comfortable while she suffers this. I give her parchment, ink, and quills to keep her happy and calm. It's all she seems to want besides breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now you see why taking that book to the Circle in Ferelden is necessary. It's more than just a tactical advantage against the Templars. It's to help those who have been severely wronged by the Rite."

"So you just keep her," Isabela asked again, rising up to her feet. "You just keep her in this cage all day and night? You don't let her go see the ocean or feel the sun?"

"I'm protecting her," Anders replied defensively. "I was protecting her until you got here."

"What do you mean until we got here?"

"Ann is the reason I brought you down here. I wanted you to see what all this fuss was for—why finding a cure is the right thing to do. I need you to take Ann to the Circle along with the book. They'll know what to do with her and it's better for her to be there than here. At least over there she'll have a chance."

"Wait," Isabela stopped him, holding out the flat of her palm. "What do you mean _they'll know what to do with her_?"

Anders looked at the pirate uneasily; he knew what he had to say was going to be hard to hear regardless of how he put it.

Isabela narrowed her eyes. "They mean to use her as a test subject, don't they? A way to figure out if the reversal works. That's it, isn't it?"

"It…is," the Mage said quietly, his own brows furrowing. "I don't like it any more than you do. That's why," Anders continued, taking a breath, "I'm also going with you—to make sure she is treated fairly in all of this."

"What?" Hawke blinked at Anders. "You're coming with us?"

"I feel that I have to in regards to this. I can't give Ann to them in good mind without being there every step of the way. In a way, she feels like my responsibility."

"How exactly do you propose to do this," Aveline intervened. "You show up, an apostate to the Circle, and expect them to just let you in on working with the cure?"

"I've been writing them for quite the while now in regards to all of this. They're actually expecting me."

"So what the bloody hell do we need to go for," Aveline sighed. "If you're going, then why do we need to reroute our trip?"

"I can't keep this book and Ann safe by myself. You know as much as I do that the roads and forests are littered with Darkspawn and Templars. If I am going to get this done then I need help. If I take more Mages with me it'll just cause more problems. It's easier to get by undetected as a sole mage with companions that hold no magical powers."

"Are we actually going to do this," Isabela spoke up, her voice louder than normal. "Um. Hello? Are you two actually considering helping him take a woman to be used as an _experiment?_"

"It sounds bad, Isabela," Anders replied, "but she won't be poked and prodded with needles and chemicals if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh no," the pirate scowled, "it's only her mind at stake! That's not a big deal at all, so let's not give Ann a choice of her own!"

"What other choice would you give her?" Anders looked at Isabela firmly, wanting an answer. "She's already lost most of her mind and it feels like more goes every other day. If she is going to have any chance of getting it back than this is what needs to be done! If you have any other way, please, tell me, I would love to hear it. Or better yet, just don't go with us if it appalls you to such lengths!"

"I follow _Hawke_. But I will have you know that I agree to _no_ part of this. I had to put up with you in the past for Hawke's sake, but believe my words now when I say that if you so much as hurt a hair on her head—on any of our heads— I will finish what Hawke could not."

"Enough," Hawke finally spat as she lifted her hands up to both people. "I will not travel with either of you if this is how it's going to be. I would rather take Ann and Aveline and get it done quietly and peacefully than have you two at each other's throat over it.

Anders opened his mouth to protest, but Hawke was in his face with a pointed finger before any of his words could come out. "Anders, a part of me will always be very fond of you, but do _not _mistake that for leniency towards this favor you ask. I will not forget where walking blinding into your past requests lead me. If we are going to do this, we are going do it _my_ way—not _yours_. There will be no silence or secrecy; when any of us ask a question it will be answered honestly for the good of the group. Is that understood?"

Anders crossed his arms, still looking at Isabela. "I have nothing to hide."

Isabela scoffed. "That's a first."

"You're one to bloody talk!"

Aveline groaned, "This is going to be fantastic."

Hawke nodded tiredly at her friend, pulling her away and out of the room. "I can't listen to them bicker all night. Did you ever hear back from Brennon?"

"She's doing well, but everyone in the Guard is growing more tense about this situation. It somehow feels wrong to be sneaking away with Anders while leaving good people like her behind."

"Would you rather stay, Aveline? I don't want you to feel obligated to do any of this."

"Part of me wishes to stay, yes. Yet, if I were going to be honest with myself I would know that it's better to go than remain in this city. There's nothing left for me here, Hawke—just a crumbling house and the memory of a good man. No, I would rather go with you."

"I'm sorry," Hawke whispered. "Do we need to stop by your home to pick anything up?"

"Donnic and I never really had any precious keepsakes. What we cherished most remained between the two of us."

"Alright, we'll leave from here as soon as we can. I sent word of my response to the Viscount concerning the Divine's request this afternoon. He responded fairly promptly. I am to meet with an agent of the Divine in three days' time."

"Did he tell you what it was concerning?"

"He didn't, but I believe that is only because he did not know himself. He offered the privacy of his office to me when the time comes."

"I'd be careful with this, Hawke," Aveline said quietly, looking at her friend with worried eyes. "It's not that I don't trust the Divine, I just don't trust the Viscount on her behalf."

"Don't worry," Hawke reassured, "I'll be careful. Something is telling me that if he doesn't follow through with this as he should, he will suffer the void for it."

"I can only hope that's true. Until then, what do you propose we do about…_them_?"

Hawke followed Aveline's gesture. Isabela and Anders were still bickering with each other, as two divorced parents do over their child's well-being.

"Isabela has never liked being underground. I think I should take her up for some air and let Anders continue to do whatever he does down here with these people."

"What of Ann? Should we just leave her there in that damned cage?"

"Sadly, I think it's for the best right now. If we take her out to the docks and a Templar sees her behavior or the Tranquil mark there could be a price to pay. We can bring her up to my quarters later tonight for dinner and before bed. Maybe she'd like to chat? She seems fond of Isabela."

"She'd be the first."

"She would not be the first," Hawke nudged, chuckling gently. "Like it or not, you know you love her too."

Aveline sighed. "Love is such a _strong_ word, but I have missed you both in your absence."

"Well we're here now! And we seem to already be back into our old misadventures!"

"You say that like it's a good thing, Hawke."

"It is," Isabela interrupted, finally having pulled away from Anders. "She's been reunited with her two best mates, her ex-boyfriend, and a non-Mage Tranquil. What could go wrong!"

Hawke slapped her palm to her own face, dragging it down in exasperation. "I _really_ hate when you say that…"

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_A/N: Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying the story so far, please leave a review and tell me what you think!_


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